Good For The Soul
by harperrose87
Summary: (Set in S13) A cold case/missing persons brings Dean and Sam to Lincoln, Nebraska, where a novice hunter is desperately looking for her missing cousin. A psychotic man claims angels are to blame, but there is nothing angelic about what they find or the truth they uncover. Sam/OC romance, be warned. (M scene[s] later in story) (CONTINUED IN "DEATH BY DREAMS")
1. Chapter 1

**Author Notes:**

 **1\. First time writing a SPN fan fic, so don't throw the tomatoes too hard.  
2\. Yep, there's an original character. Yep, there's romance. Now's the time to leave if that isn't your thing.  
3\. Said OC is physically (mostly) modeled after actress Maia Mitchell.  
4\. Leave me love or hate-just make sure it's honest and constructive, because that's what floats my boat and makes me a better writer.  
5\. This is in the current season of this date.  
6\. I don't own anything about Supernatural, except my OC.  
7\. There are four letter words used selectively. Hence, the T rating.  
** **8.** **Thank you for being a friend.**

* * *

 **Lincoln, Nebraska**

The cool night air wove through the trees, the small fire they built swaying at its whim. Each of them huddled around it, tightening their hoodies.

"Why the hell are we out here again?" Stephanie asked, the red head shivering against her boyfriend, Todd.

"I'm thinking because we're idiots at this point," Hailey sighed, tucking her brown hair into her hood. "There's no other reason why we should be freezing our asses off."

"Look, he'll show, okay?" Lucas interrupted, drinking his beer.

"He'd better," Todd growled, rolling his eyes.

"Before you know it, he'll be here with the good stuff."

Several moments of silence passed between the four college students. "Yep. I'm outta here," Hailey said, standing. "See you losers tomorrow."

"Hey, come on," Lucas interrupted, "it's a full moon. We've got booze. Why are you complaining?" He took another long swig of his beer.

"Because your guy didn't show with the mind-blowing trip you promised," she spat. "So I'm out."

Hailey waved, walking down the path back to her car, using her cell phone as a flashlight. The woods were far darker than she gave them credit for, and she suddenly wished she hadn't whined and left the safety of the group. She swallowed hard, her steps quickening with the beat of her heart as she began to flutter into a panic.

Shining the phone in front of her, she jumped when she saw a guy with his hands up in front of her. He was tall, brunette, and handsome, seemingly a few years older than her. "Whoa," he said, "easy. Sorry. I'm Kyle, remember me?"

Hailey was unable to avoid noticing how attractive he was. "Yeah, you invited me to church, right?"

"Yep." He smiled. "Hailey, right?"

"Uh-huh." He was magnetic, a charm about him that put her at nearly instant ease. She tilted her head back in the direction she came. "They're over there," she said, assuming it was Lucas' friend.

Before she could pass him, Kyle took Hailey's arm with a small smile. She resisted his touch at first, then quickly relaxed, her brown eyes searching his as her body calmed. "Where are you going?" he asked, stepping closer to her. She stared at him, hypnotized. "You're a beautiful girl," he murmured, reaching out and stroking her face. Hailey let him, blinking as she remained in a trance-like state. "You shouldn't be out here all alone." He pet her, lifting her arm and sniffing her wrist. "Let's get you home, hmm?"

In the blink of an eye, Hailey was home in her dorm room. She wrinkled her brow, a bit of confusion overcoming her. She didn't remember her drive at all. She had to have driven back. How else would she get there?

Still, the warmth of her bed called to her, and she sighed, kicking off her sneakers and crawling in. Sleep came over her quickly, her dreams surprisingly pleasant and sweet.

The next morning, she woke to her alarm with a grumble. Shutting it off, she looked at the date. Wednesday. "Shit!" She bolted up from her bed, checking her class syllabus, certain that her urban society studies paper was due, which she forgot all about. It was. "Dammit!" Quickly changing, Hailey rushed to her desk, pausing as she looked down at the neatly typed essay on her desk. "I did it?" she asked herself. She didn't remember writing it at all. Still, her name was on it. Hailey shrugged, tucking it into her backpack and leaving her dorm for her class.

Surprisingly, class wasn't a long, boring waste of time that morning. In fact, after they turned in their papers, the professor let them go. It was pretty awesome, since she didn't have any other classes until the late afternoon.

Realizing she hadn't eaten yet, Hailey took out her wallet and looked in it as she neared the campus eatery. Her brows raised as she flipped through the thick wad of cash lining it. "Holy shit," she murmured, seeing the bills were mostly fifties and hundreds. Hailey glanced around, then back to the money. She felt it again, laughing to herself as she ran her fingers over it.

Hailey didn't waste any time. After breakfast, she drove to the mall and went on a shopping spree, giggling as she kept buying everything she saw she wanted, the cash never seeming to run out. "This is amazing," she breathed, giddy as she snagged a designer purse and wallet, going to the counter to purchase it.

Several heavy bags later, Hailey drove back to campus, lugging everything to her dorm. As she struggled with her bags, a warm hand stopped her. "Need help?" a male voice asked. Hailey turned, looking up and seeing Kyle from the night before.

"Oh wow," she said, "I didn't know you went here."

"Just transferred in." He took her bags with a grin, and she blushed as she shoved her key in the dorm lock. "Thanks," she murmured once they were inside and he set the bags on her bed.

"You're quite welcome," he replied, stroking her cheek. He lifted her arm, tracing his finger over her wrist. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"I've had a legit amazing day," she murmured, slowing to a trance.

"That's wonderful," he said.

What Hailey didn't see was the dank warehouse she was tied in, bound and blindfolded to a concrete pole on her knees. Water pooled around her jeans, dripping from the ceiling of the dusky space. He pet her cheek, leaning in and sucking in a long drink from her cut wrist, a small stream of shimmering power leaving her body and entering his mouth. "That's just wonderful, Hailey," he murmured with a satisfied sigh.

Moving away from her, he stretched as he let the sip of her soul fill him. He strolled over to a decaying body across from Hailey, kicking it with his work boot. Disgusted, he flicked his wrist, transporting the body into a factory sewage run-off, smiling as he looked back at Hailey and the two other meals lined up for him along the concrete. "Fresh is always best."

* * *

 **Lebanon, Kansas**

"I mean, they're pancakes. How do you not want pancakes?" Dean Winchester gawked at his little brother, Sam Winchester, gesturing with a silicone spatula as he railed on him. "Pancakes, Sammy. The King of Breakfast, the perfect hangover meal, the quintessential 'make her breakfast the next morning' meal. And you don't want any?"

Sam's brow arched, a half smile on his face as he looked up from his laptop. "I'm just not hungry. I didn't realize you were so passionate about them, Dean."

"I am when I make a shit ton thinking my giant brother will be eating them." Dean sighed, scooping them out onto a plate for himself. "Whatever. More for me." He moved to the bunker table, sitting with a satisfied sigh before shoving a huge piece of pancake in his mouth. He chewed it with a small moan. "You're missing out," he mumbled through his mouthful.

Sam was entirely distracted, scrolling through the most recent news articles. "In Lincoln, Nebraska, there's been a series of missing women over the last five years," he said, brow furrowed as he read. "Four women total so far, the most recent one from three days ago. All of the them fit a particular profile—petite Caucasian brunettes, between the ages of 18 and 30. Local police believe that the disappearances are connected, though no suspects have been named."

"A cold case missing persons?" Dean shrugged. "I mean, it's not really our thing. Besides, we've got Jack and Mom, and—"

"I know, but listen to this: According to a man named James Gray, the disappearances are not the work of a human." Sam looked up, seeing Dean chewing and looking at him, unimpressed. "He says that it's an angel."

"An angel?" Dean repeated, sipping his coffee. "Look, we know angels are assholes in general, but I've never heard of them picking off certain types of women." Dean nodded to the laptop. "Where's this Gray guy at? He a family member or something?"

Sam winced, shaking his head. "More like a psych ward patient with a lot to say."

Dean eyed him, stabbing a pancake. "Yeah, I'll pass."

"I mean," Sam began, sighing as he ran his hand through his thick hair, "we're at a stalemate right now, Dean. It's only a three hour drive. Maybe it's worth a shot. Maybe we can do some good while we wait."

Grumbling, Dean cut into a pancake. "Sam—"

"The most recent disappearance is a college student from University of Nebraska, which means interviews on campus," Sam quickly added, giving Dean a raised brow.

Dean pursed his lips as he thought. He nodded. "Yeah, okay. I'm in."


	2. Chapter 2

**Lincoln, Nebraska**

Donning their FBI suits, Dean parked the Impala in front of the local police station. They got out, Sam fiddling with his ID badge in his pocket as they climbed the stairs into the building.

Just as they were about to flash their badges for the cop at the front desk, a petite woman in a tight pencil skirt suit and heels in front of them flashed hers. "Meg Markson, FBI," she said. Dean glanced at Sam, who gave him a subtle shrug. "I'm here to talk to your chief about the most recent disappearance, Hailey Jodiak."

The officer waved her through, stopping Dean and Sam as they tried to tag along by flashing their badges. "We're with her," Dean said, Sam trying to hold back his worried expression from Dean's impromptu move.

The cop eyed them, then waved them through. Both brothers exhaled in relief as they caught sight of the woman, who was several yards ahead of them. "Dean," Sam whispered, "she's a Fed, we're screwed."

"I got this," he said with a smirk, eyeing the woman's backside as they approached. "And she's got that," he added with an approving nod.

Sam tried not to look, but couldn't help it. The woman's blazer and skirt highlighted her hourglass figure to perfection. Her thick, brown hair cascaded in long waves down her back, swinging temptingly as she walked. Her slim legs ended in black heels that were somehow both sensible and alluring. He caught the hint of a seam running right up the center back of her calves from her pantyhose. It was enough to make his throat dry out. He quickly looked away, tugging at his tie to loosen it a little as they followed her at a distance.

"Sam."

Sam stopped, seeing Dean staring at him. "Huh?" he asked, clearing his throat.

"I said, we're using the usual spiel," Dean repeated.

"Right." Sam nodded, a little too enthusiastically. Dean squinted at him. "Let's go," Sam said, gesturing to where the woman was entering.

"Chief Denning? Meg Markson, FBI," the woman introduced herself, flashing her badge.

"Also," Dean chimed in, he and Sam flashing their badges quickly, "Agents Russell and Elliot."

The woman named Meg turned, her brow furrowed as she looked at the two men behind her. Sam couldn't help but notice her round, hazel eyes, glossed lips, and a button nose that made her look more like an innocent young woman instead of an agent. He drew in a sharp breath as she caught him gawking, looking away.

She eyed them, annoyance riddling her expression. "And what office are you and Bullwinkle from?" she asked, those same delicate features hardening as she looked at Dean.

"Kansas City, sweetheart," Dean replied with a charming smile that faded when it had no affect on her. "Relatives requested our presence during the investigation."

"Relatives?" she asked, brow arching.

"Family members of the missing," Sam said softly, gaining Meg's attention. She looked young, maybe even too young to be an agent; her face softened a little as Sam looked into her eyes.

"Fine," she said, "but I'll be calling your office to let them know Lincoln has the lead." She turned back to the chief, who was watching the whole thing in confusion. "Sir, I'd like to—"

"We'd," Dean corrected, coming to stand at Meg's side.

" _I_ ," she emphasized, "would like to ask you a few questions regarding Hailey Jodiak's disappearance."

"Please, sit," the chief said, gesturing to the two chairs in front of him. Sam nodded to Meg to take the one they were both near, and she sat hesitantly, catching Sam's eye before turning away. Dean sat in the other, crossing his leg.

"Were there any indications of a struggle?"

"No," the chief replied. "All we have is what we assume are her footprints at the last place she was seen. But they stopped halfway down the trail she was on. It fits with the other three women who have gone missing. Any tangible signs of their abductions just don't exist."

"So," Sam said, "it's as if they vanished?"

Meg arched her brow at him over her shoulder. "Vanished?" she scoffed. "People don't just vanish."

"These people might have," Dean replied.

Meg rolled her eyes, turning back to the chief. "Do you have photos from the scene?"

The chief handed her a case file, and she took it. Sam looked over her shoulder at the information, studying the picture of Hailey. "Says here the last people to see her were a few students," Meg noted. She looked up. "I'll be needing their contact information."

"We interviewed them, but you're holding a duplicate file. All the information is in there. Feel free to take it with you."

"Perfect, thank you." Meg stood, Dean following suit. She handed the chief a business card. "Let me know if you find anything new. I'll be in touch." She gave him a nod, tucking the file under her arm as she turned and left the office.

Dean smiled and gave his business card to the chief as well. "Us too," he added.

Sam followed after Meg, leaving Dean behind. "Agent Markson," he called, grabbing her attention briefly. "Perhaps we could share resources for this?"

"And what resources do you have?" she asked, looking straight ahead, her heels clicking on the floor as she walked.

"I figure if we can pool our efforts, we might get further."

Meg drew down the purse from her shoulder, digging through it for her keys. "Like I said, Agent Elliott, Lincoln has the lead on this."

She pushed open the door, not bothering to hold it for Sam. He caught it just before it smacked him in the face, sighing as he jogged up behind her. "I think it might be more beneficial if—"

Meg turned to him, not realizing how close Sam was, knocking into his broad frame. The file fell, along with her purse, both spilling their contents on to the blacktop of the parking lot. "Shit," she growled, stooping low to grab everything. Sam quickly bent down, helping her.

"Sorry," he murmured, his fingers brushing hers as he handed her some papers. He snatched her I.D. badge from where it laid as they finished, straightening to stand with her. Sam's brow arched as he looked at it just before handing it to her. He could tell the badge was a fake. "Where did you say you were from again?" he asked.

"Lincoln," she replied with annoyance, scoffing when he kept the badge out of her reach. "Give me that."

"Who are you?" he asked, Dean coming to stand by his side as he studied her.

"I don't need to answer that," Meg growled, swiping for the badge, Sam keeping it out of reach. "Give me that, or your nads will regret it," she warned.

"Not until you tell me who you are," Sam replied.

Meg shut her eyes, sighing. "Fine. I'm not a Fed. I'm a … freelance investigator."

Dean smirked. "A P.I.?"

Meg shrugged. "Sort of."

Sam shook his head. He knew the style of badge she was using was from a resources mainly serving one particular clientele. "You're a hunter," he corrected, catching her surprised reaction. "Look, this badge came from the same place ours did, which is a hunter resource. So, hunter, right?"

The woman they thought was Agent Meg Markson pressed her lips together, exhaling in defeat. "Yes. Rachel Lentz, hunter." She did a mock bow, snatching her I.D. back from Sam while he was distracted. "And I assume you're both hunters too?"

Dean nodded. "Dean Winchester," he said, tilting his head to Sam, "and Sam Winchester."

Rachel's brow shot up. "The Winchesters? What are the infamous Winchester boys doing in Nebraska?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Dean replied under his breath.

"We read about the account from James Gray," Sam said.

"This can't be angels," Rachel corrected.

"How do you know?"

"Because … Aren't angels supposed to be the good guys? Aside from Lucifer."

Dean laughed. "Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea."

"So," Sam said, taking a step closer to Rachel, "you're fairly new at this?"

She was clearly annoyed and embarrassed. "Look," she snapped under her breath, "Hailey is my cousin. I know her. She may make dumb kid decisions, but she wouldn't just take off. Something happened to her out there, and my theory is, it's a shapeshifter."

"A shapeshifter?" Dean asked.

"It would make sense, right? Takes on one form, moves to the next … It might be why she went with whoever it was that took her, because she trusted them."

Sam nodded. "Possibly." He studied Rachel. "So, want to pool our resources? Three hunters are better than one."

Rachel looked between the two brothers, her focus resting on Sam. He was over a foot taller than her, broad, and undeniably handsome. Both of the brothers were. There was something about Sam, though, that drew her. Maybe it was his gentle insistence, or his amazing locks of brown hair—whatever it was, it made her cheeks heat up. She ducked her eyes to the parking lot below her, nodding. "Fine," she said, straightening. Without waiting, she started for her car. "Follow me," she called over her shoulder. "We're going to the University."

Sam watched her walk away, clearing his throat as Dean looked at him with a shit-eating grin. "Shut up, Dean," he grumbled, turning for the Impala.

"I mean," Dean said with a chuckle, "can't blame you one bit. She's certainly real easy on the eyes." He climbed into the driver's side, Sam sitting next to him in the passenger's. "She's like, what—20, though?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "She's older than that."

"You sure? Don't want you getting your feathers all fluffed over jailbait."

"She's not jailbait, and I'm not …" Sam flustered, running his hand over his face. "I'm not interested."

"Uh-huh."

"I'm not!"

"You keep telling yourself that, Sammy."

With a sigh, Sam leaned back against his seat as Dean pulled out of the lot and followed Rachel's car. He ran his tongue across the back of his teeth, shoving his thoughts aside. Even though she was a hunter, it wasn't like he'd be staying in Nebraska to make anything work—if he even got that far. He was better off ignoring it as best he could.

"You're not even this quiet when you sleep," Dean mused several minutes later.

"I was just thinking, if it was a shapeshifter, wouldn't there have to be another set of tracks?"

"Good point. So, we can likely rule out Rachel's theory."

Sam's brow creased as he leaned on the door, propping up his elbow. "If there's only one set of tracks, then whatever it was is able to teleport."

"Angel," Dean sighed.

"We're going to need to talk to James Gray after this," Sam concluded.

"Great. But there's no way in hell I'm pulling my pants down again."


	3. Chapter 3

**UNL Campus**  
 **Lincoln, Nebraska**

Dean parked the Impala two spaces away from Rachel's small compact car, stowing the keys in his pocket as he and Sam climbed out. Rachel stood by her car, her head buried in the file she held. "Looks like we've got four people," she concluded. "A sophomore named Stephanie Cromwell; her boyfriend, a junior named Todd Lewis; a junior mutual friend named Lucas Welby; and a junior friend named Kyle Thurman. According to their class schedules, it says here that Stephanie and Todd should be in chem lab together, and that Lucas and Kyle will be at the library at work study." She looked up at the brothers. "I vote we divide and conquer before they can match stories."

"Good idea," Sam said. "Dean—"

"—Will take the first two," Dean interrupted, finishing writing the names and notes down on his pad. "You kids go get the second two. Text me when you're done, Sammy. We'll meet back here." He smirked, giving Sam a wink before he headed off through the campus.

Sam's eyes widened as he watched him leave, drawing in a nervous breath as he turned back to Rachel. "Well, I guess we should go track them down," he said.

"Guess so," she replied, meeting his eyes for a moment. She looked away, heading down the walkway.

"Do you know where the library is?" Sam asked, falling into step beside her.

"I was here a couple times visiting Hailey, and I think I remember the rough location."

Sam glanced over at her. "I'm sorry about your cousin," he offered.

"We'll find her," Rachel concluded, a definite resolve thickening in front of him over any doubts or worry she held.

He nodded. He hoped it was true, but in their line of work, nothing was ever predictable or guaranteed. "So, how'd you get into hunting?" he asked.

Rachel swallowed, tucking a section of hair behind her ear. "My boyfriend was bit by a werewolf," she murmured. "At first, it was okay. We made it through a couple months with no kills. Then, he lied and managed to kill. I didn't find out right away, but when I did, the Alex I knew was long gone. And I had to …" Rachel rolled her shoulders, pushing away the memory.

"I'm sorry," Sam murmured. "It must have been awful." He recalled Madison, wetting his throat.

"Yeah. It definitely wasn't my favorite moment in life." She looked over at him, her eyes finding his. "He wasn't himself, though. There was no humanity left."

Sam examined Rachel's eyes. "I know what you mean."

"So after that, I decided to make a makeshift career of killing all the monsters that I can."

"Alone?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes I meet up with other hunters and tag-team."

"So, like now," Sam said with a smile.

Rachel laughed. "I wouldn't really call this a tag-team. It's more like I'm getting expert hunter charity."

"I'm sure you hold your own," he assured.

"I could use more combat training," she admitted, then smirked. "But I'm pretty good with a knife."

Sam smiled, reluctantly looking up from her, seeing the library doors ahead. Opening one for Rachel, he followed her inside, readying his badge in his pocket. He peeked at the photos in the file in the vestibule with her, then scanned the main area as they walked through the metal detectors. Lights and sirens blared, their guns triggering the system. Campus security rushed over, and Sam and Rachel held up their hands, Sam carefully fishing for his badge. "Agents Elliott and Markson," he said, showing them the I.D., "FBI."

Rachel took hers out and showed it. "We're just here to ask Lucas Welby and Kyle Thurman some questions," she explained.

The security guards gave them a quick nod, letting them pass despite their weapons. Sam tapped Rachel's arm, nodding to the counter area where Lucas was stacking books. They made their way over, Lucas turning around and looking them over. "Agents Markson and Elliott, FBI," Rachel said, flashing her badge at Lucas. The young man grinned, leaning back against the counter as he looked at her. "We'd like to ask you some questions about Hailey Jodiak."

Lucas smirked at Rachel. "You can ask me anything you want, cutie," he replied, receiving a hardened look from her in return.

"Cut the crap and pay attention," Rachel snapped, squashing Lucas before Sam could even get mad at him. "You were there the night Hailey went missing, right?"

"Yeah," Lucas said with a shrug. "I didn't do shit, though. She bailed on us."

"No one's saying you did anything," Sam corrected. "Tell us when you last saw her."

Lucas sidled up to the front counter, leaning toward Rachel. "At the bonfire," he said. "Three nights ago. We were hanging out, but she got pissed because Kyle didn't show right away."

"Why would she be mad at that?" Rachel asked.

"Because Kyle was bringing …" He glanced over at Sam, then back to Rachel. "He was bringing some snacks."

Rachel nodded slowly. "Uh-huh. Then what happened?"

"She left, we chilled, then went home." Lucas shrugged.

"You didn't hear her, or anything after she left?" Sam asked.

Lucas shook his head. "Nope. Kyle showed up a few minutes later, and that was that. Thought she went back to her dorm."

Out of the corner of her eye, Rachel saw a brown haired young man eyeing her. She looked over, seeing Kyle Thurman stacking books back on shelves. "Excuse me," she said, leaving Sam with Lucas, who looked up at him.

"Man, why couldn't you go?" Lucas grumbled.

Sam watched Rachel leave, then glared at Lucas. "So, walk me through every detail," he began.

As Sam continued talking to Lucas, Rachel followed Kyle around to another section of books tucked in the corner. "Kyle Thurman?" she asked, gaining his attention. She flashed her badge. "Agent Markson, FBI. I'm here to ask you some questions about Hailey Jodiak."

"Sure," Kyle said, calmly going back to reshelving books. "What would you like to know?"

"Did you see Hailey three nights ago?"

"I did. She was leaving the bonfire party, and we passed each other on the path."

"Did she say anything to you?"

Kyle shook his head. "Not that I recall. Only that she was going home. Said she was too cold to hang out anymore."

"So you didn't hear anything or see anything?"

"I'm afraid not," he replied, looking over at her. "I don't really know Hailey, to be honest. She seemed like a nice girl."

"That was the first time you met her?" Rachel asked, stepping closer.

"Yes."

"You never spoke to her before that night?"

He shook his head, a bit of panic on his face. "Am I … under some kind of suspicion?" he asked.

"No," Rachel replied. "We're just trying to be thorough. Thank you. We'll be in touch."

"Anything I can do to help," Kyle smiled, turning back to his work as Sam came to her side.

Rachel watched him for a moment as Sam came to her side. He seemed normal-no telltale signs of lying present. Maybe a little nervous from being interrogated, but otherwise completely innocent. She tugged gently on Sam's suit sleeve as they turned and walked toward the exit. He leaned in, taking the hint. "Kyle seems perfectly normal. So why can't I shake the feeling he's involved? Do I just want him to be, because it's easy?"

"Maybe," Sam murmured. He paused, positioning himself in a way that he could take subtle glances at Kyle. "We'll keep an eye on him, though." Without realizing it, Sam guided Rachel out of the library with a feather light touch to the small of her back. The intimate gesture lit her skin on fire. Outside, he pulled away with sudden urgency, like a kid caught rifling in a cookie jar. "I'll, uh, text Dean," he said, moving away and taking out his phone.

Rachel glanced back over her shoulder toward the library, an odd feeling surrounding her. She could feel someone's eyes watching her, but no one was there. She sighed; she needed to screw her head on straight, and fast. Hailey needed her to. Colossal failure wasn't an option, especially in front of the Winchesters.


	4. Chapter 4

Inside a roadside diner, Dean bit into a bacon burger while Sam and Rachel opted for wraps. "So," Dean said with a partial mouthful, "we've got a dead end with the kids. Time for you to break out the books, Sammy. Bunker?"

"Three hours away," Sam reminded. "Let's see if we can't dig locally first."

"Don't forget about James Gray," Rachel said, eating a fry.

Dean pursed his lips. "Right. Can't wait."

Sam looked at Rachel. "That reminds me, Dean and I aren't sure if we've got a shapeshifter on our hands. They tend to leave a trail of some sort. I think we're looking for something that teleports."

Rachel nodded. "Makes sense. I guess that's why they pay you the big bucks," she said, Dean grinning in return.

"So where you from?" Dean asked, picking up a fry from his plate.

"New York."

"Long way from home."

She dipped her fry in ketchup, hesitating. "It's not home. I don't really have one. I'm usually just on the road or in a cruddy motel."

"Family?" Sam asked.

"They all disowned me, except for Hailey," she sighed. "They thought I was a whack job when I told them about Alex." Dean's brow raised. "My boyfriend turned werewolf. Shot him two years ago."

Dean's eyes widened. "He would only turn on a full moon," he noted.

"He enjoyed the kill way too much," Rachel explained, her voice softening. "He wasn't Alex."

"Sorry to hear that," Dean said, looking down with a wince. He hadn't meant to pick a scab.

"It's okay." Inhaling, she continued. "So, what do we know about James Gray?" She looked to Sam, who sat across from her next to Dean; she had given him the file to read while they drove to the diner.

"Not much," Sam replied, thumbing through the pages until he landed on James Gray's photo. "Says here he worked at Kerner Meat Packing Plant for almost ten years, then quit suddenly."

"Any idea why?" Dean asked.

"Doesn't say. After that, he took up selling Bibles door to door, so I'm going to assume he had a conversion on lifestyle?"

"They say people who work in the meat industry and more susceptible to mental illness due to the repetitive exposure of the slaughtering process," Rachel noted. "The atmosphere triggers something in the psyche, switching off a certain level of humanity from the constant killing and dismemberment of animals."

Dean pulled his burger back a bit, his nose wrinkling as he looked at it for a moment. He shrugged, taking another large bite.

"You consider religion a mental illness?" Sam asked.

"No," she corrected. "I do think that his sudden trigger could have started from it, though, and then spawned into something else."

Dean nodded. "So he went nut-side, then he got a little too deep in the church?"

"Maybe," Sam said, studying James' photo. "At any rate, he's considered a Class A patient in Lincoln Central Facility, which is the highest rank for mental disturbance in their system." Sam paused, reading further. "Rachel," he murmured, "I'm not sure if it's a good idea for you to talk to Gray."

Her eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"Says here he's triggered by women. Could be unpredictable."

She leaned back against the booth. "I'll take my chances."

"Sam's right," Dean interjected gently. "If he's Class A, and you go waltzing in there with all of your …" He waved to her whole being, causing her brow to raise. "... we might not get what we need to help find your cousin."

Rachel looked between the two brothers. Both looked back at her with empathy, Sam a bit more than Dean. "Why is he triggered by women?"

Sam swallowed. "He says that 'they only exist to serve the Watchers.' It's noted here by the facility psychologist that Gray refers to all women as 'it' or 'they,' and refuses to acknowledge a woman's actual humanity outside of being 'property.'"

"Watchers," Dean murmured, pondering the title for a few moments. "Shit, are we talking a grigori here?"

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "Damn. We might be."

"Son of a bitch."

"Wanna fill me in?" Rachel said expectantly.

Sam lowered his hand, focusing on her. "Grigoris are fallen angels, known as Watchers. According to the lure, they descended to Earth from Mount of Hermon after they turned away from Heaven."

"They were fallen because they didn't listen to Chuck and got freaky-deaky with pretty human ladies," Dean added, wagging his brows.

"Chuck?" Rachel asked, bewildered.

Sam smiled a little. "Long story. So, their union created the Nephilim, a half human, half angel race."

"Grigoris are suppose to be toast, though," Dean said. "Aren't they?"

"I thought so, but it lines up with the selection of victims."

"Shit," Dean sighed.

"What?" Rachel asked.

"Grigoris are sons 'a bitches."

"Not an easy kill," Sam added. "We'll need an angel blade or an angel sword."

Rachel looked over to Sam. "You guys are the Winchesters. You have one of those, right?"

"Yeah, sure," Dean said, leaning back, "but we'd be lucky to get close enough to the Watcher to do anything with it."

"Well," Rachel replied, "I'm fairly good with throwing knives."

"You're going to have to be stellar to nail one, sweetheart." He selected a fry from his plate. "So, you've only been hunting for two years?" he asked.

"I can hold my own," Rachel said quietly, looking at Dean.

"I don't doubt you've got some moves," he replied with a flirty smile, "but you still might be in over your head with this one, darling."

She stiffened. "I'll be fine."

"Rachel," Sam said gently, "if you come, Gray's trigger might take our chance to get valuable information."

"So, what—I sit back and make you two dinner in the kitchen?" Rachel scoffed. "I don't know how you two do things, but I don't give my witnesses or suspects that much power over me. Besides, who's to say my 'trigger' won't be beneficial to our investigation? It does involve missing women, after all." Rachel eyed them. "Maybe my having a vagina will get him riled up enough to spill some beans."

Dean's focus fell to the table as soon as the word 'vagina' was mentioned. "She's got a point, Sammy," he muttered, not looking up.

Sam ran his hand over his face. "I don't like it," he said; still, he looked defeated. "But we'll do it your way," he concluded with a sigh, holding Rachel's gaze for a long moment.

Rachel ducked her eyes away from Sam, finding sudden interest in her fork near her plate. He buried his face in the file, avoiding her. Dean looked between them. "So," he said slowly, cutting through the awkward silence, "what cruddy motel are you at around here?"

"The Super 8," Rachel replied.

"Continental?"

"I'm a broke hunter. Of course."

Dean nodded. "Sounds like a winner. We'll get a room after we talk to Hannibal Lecter."


	5. Chapter 5

**Lincoln Central Facility**

Dean led the charge, Rachel sandwiched in the middle with Sam taking up the rear as they single-file walked through the institution. They followed a nurse down a long hall, taking a sharp left into an almost darkened corner of the building. With three doors to buzz through, Lincoln Central certainly kept all of the worst hidden away, sealed tight.

The nurse opened them up to an interrogation room, where Dean ushered Rachel in first, the two brothers following behind. It was empty, save for them. "They'll be bringing him in momentarily," the nurse informed them, leaving with what seemed like relief.

All three of them stood, keeping to themselves as they waited. Silence thickened between them, each occupied in their own thoughts and concerns. Still, when the door opened, Sam instinctively went on the defense, purposely moving in front of Rachel to partially conceal her.

James Gray was led to the table. He was a thin, middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair and narrow eyes, dressed in tan scrubs and wrapped in heavy body chains. The guards secured him to bolted rings on the floor before they left for their post outside of the room. A dog on a leash, Gray fixed his eyes on Rachel immediately despite Sam's build.

"Agents Russell, Elliott, and Markson," Dean said, briefly gaining Gray's attention as he stepped closer. "FBI. We have some questions for you about the missing women."

"What is that _thing_ doing here in my presence?" Gray asked. Sam kept Rachel partially concealed, on edge as he saw Gray's intense glare at her.

""Hey, listen," Dean said, pulling Gray's focus to himself. "Why don't you worry about what I'll be asking you instead of her?"

Gray studied Dean. "What do you want to know?"

"I want to hear more about this angel you think is responsible for the abductions."

"Not think, know." Gray's eyes narrowed. "Arioch, the Watcher. He desires them. The Watchers' dominion makes them rightfully theirs."

"Where does Arioch bring them?"

"Here. There. He doesn't say, really."

"Did he take Hailey Jodiak?"

"What does it look like?" Gray asked. Dean glanced over at Sam, silently contemplating his response. He took out a photo of Hailey from his inner suit pocket, sliding it to him on the table. "Yes," Gray nodded, studying it. "He chose that one."

"Where is he keeping her?"

"It's not for me to question."

"Did he take the other missing women?"

Gray shifted his focus to Rachel. A hint of a smile curled his lips. "He requires fresh ones at least once a month during feeding and breeding times."

"And are we in one of those times?"

"Maybe."

"What does he do with the women?" Sam asked.

"It is not for me to question."

"Do you help him pick the women?"

"Oh, no. I am but a lowly messenger of the Lord. Arioch does not need my help. He takes whatever he wishes." Gray replied, looking Sam over. "He would be very pleased with that one. Is it your property?"

"I'm no one's property, dirtbag," Rachel growled.

Gray's eyes widened. "How dare you speak, you insolent creature." He spit on the ground.

She moved past Sam, approaching the table. "I'll talk whenever I'd like. I'll also make sure your life is a living hell if you don't start giving us some specifics." She eyed him. "What does Arioch look like?" With a sneer, Gray remained silent. "I said, what does he look like?"

Sam yanked Rachel back as Gray lunged toward her, the chains stopping him short. "Shut your mouth, you filthy beast. You—" he said to Sam. "—control your property."

"Answer the question," Dean interrupted as Sam kept a firm grip on Rachel.

"How should I know what vessel he chooses?" Gray shrugged. "He changes them, depending on what he wishes to take."

"Give us one of them."

"I can't. It's not for me to question."

Dean took a deep breath. "So, he switches out meat suits depending on what woman he's after?"

"Yes," Gray replied, eyeing Rachel. He studied her silently for a minute, a smile languidly widening across his face. "Be obedient. Purpose has come," he said to her. "It won't be long now."

"Eyes up here," Dean ordered. Gray slowly looked back to him. "How many women has he taken?"

"It's not for me to question."

Sam pressed his lips together, sharing a look with Dean. They were getting nowhere, and fast. "Fine. What are you allowed to know?" Dean asked.

"Arioch shows me what they see."

"What do they see?" Sam asked.

"What they wish to," Gray said. "They are imbeciles."

"What does Hailey see?"

Gray closed his eyes, craning his neck as he sat in silence. "What it always desired," he murmured. "Perfection. Money. Love."

"What about the others?"

"Family. Success. Children. Power." Gray opened his eyes. "They see it, but don't know it."

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. "Why does Arioch let them see those things?" Sam asked.

"It makes the soul sweeter," Gray grinned.

Rachel shifted, still under Sam's careful grip. "What does he do with them when he's done?" she asked. Gray remained quiet.

"Answer her," Dean growled.

"He rids himself of those he no longer needs."

"Where?"

"It is not for me to question."

Dean inhaled deeply. "Is Hailey alive?" he asked.

Gray smiled. "More than it has ever been."

* * *

Rachel shut her motel room door, dead-bolting it with a deep sigh. They were right—Gray was a Class A psycho. Very little of what he said about Hailey made sense, but she knew at least with Sam and Dean's help, she would get closer to answers than on her own.

She stripped off her FBI suit, hanging it in the tiny closet as she hunted through her bag for a change of clothes. She opted for yoga leggings and a New York Yankees sweatshirt, switching out her heels for tennis shoes.

In the bathroom, she took out her contact lenses, feeling relieved to be wearing her black plastic glasses. Contacts irritated her eyes, but she knew it was helpful in creating a persona. She sank her fingers into the roots of her hair, rubbing her scalp as she left the bathroom, swiping up her cell phone. A text from Sam from a minute ago was waiting:

 **Pizza?**

She typed a reply, sending it.

 **Sounds good. I'm buying.**

Rachel smirked when she saw Sam's response:

 **Nope. We got it. :)**

She dug out her wallet anyway, grabbing enough cash for the two pizzas they'd likely order, bringing her cell phone with her as she headed to their room.

With a quick knock on the door, she waited, looking out into the dusky night from the balcony she was on. The door opened, and she turned back as Sam answered. He wearing a simple gray tee shirt and jeans, his brow raising as he thoroughly looked her over. "Come in," he said in a raspy voice, stepping aside as he cleared his throat. As she walked past him, she tucked the bills she brought for the food into his back jean pocket. She did it so quickly that she didn't get a feel of anything, but she still felt her cheeks heat a little from her own boldness. With a smirk, she turned and headed for the far bed, hearing Sam cough a little behind her.

Dean was on the phone ordering the pies, so Sam sat next to her. "I didn't know you wore glasses," he said, glancing over at her. They made her look ever more innocent than she did before. He almost blurted out asking how old she was, but he stopped himself, thankfully.

"Contacts dry my eyes out," she replied. "I just use them to be Meg."

Sam nodded, smiling softly. "They suit you."

Rachel glanced over at him, watching how his hair brushed against his forehead. "Thanks."

"Alright," Dean said with a satisfied grin, "we've got a pepperoni with extra cheese, and some veggie crap coming." He looked to Rachel, his brow arching. "I dig it," he said, gesturing to her glasses.

"Thanks," she replied. "My treat for the pizza." She glanced over at Sam, giving him a knowing look; she swore she saw his cheeks tint.

"Nah, you don't have—"

"I know. I gave Sam the money already."

Dean nodded. "Well, thanks, darling."

Rachel shrugged. "You guys covered lunch. It's the least I can do." She scooted back on the mattress, tucking her legs under herself. "So, what's the plan?"

"Well," Sam said, "we don't have access to the same resources as at the bunker, but we figured we can try to research as much as we know about grigoris to help us possibly hone in on some clues."

"Gray said something I thought was interesting," Rachel side, glancing between the two. "He says they 'see what they wish to see.' Is it just me, or does that sound like a trip of some sort? Or do you think he meant Heaven?"

"Grigoris are known to have manipulative powers," Sam replied. He flipped open his laptop, pulling up a search and plugging some things in. His brows knitted together as he read the screen. "Says here for some of the lure on them, grigoris are able to induce their victims into a trance-like state to subdue them."

"Through touch, I'm guessing," Dean said, sitting on the bed across from them.

"Seems like it. It also says they also feed on the soul of a victim over a long period of time."

"'Makes the soul sweeter,'" Rachel murmured, echoing Gray's words as she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "So, if grigoris need time, they'd hypnotize their victims."

"Making them complacent," Sam added.

"Making them see what they want," Dean murmured. "Like the Djinn?"

Sam nodded. "Okay, so we've got a being with the ability to entrance its victims. Where would he keep them?"

Rachel moved next to Sam, taking the laptop from him and sitting on the mattress as she began typing away. Sam just watched with wide eyes, while Dean gave him a smirk, chuckling. "So," Rachel said slowly, flipping through browser windows with impressive speed, unaware of Dean's teasing, "the victims are all within a thirty-mile radius of Lincoln. He likes to stay local. Why?" She looked up at Sam, finding him a lot closer than she thought he was. She swallowed, catching the scent of his cologne.

"Maybe Arioch stays in an area for a while, then shifts to new ones?" he asked. He watched as she pulled up some news articles. "That one," he said from over her shoulder, pointing to the screen. She clicked it and they read it together. "Same pattern of missing people."

"So, he travels. Do we know why and when?"

"May I?" Sam asked, gesturing to the laptop.

"Oh … Sure," Rachel murmured, twisting a little to hand it to him.

"Thanks," he smiled.

As Rachel leaned in a little to watch, she caught Dean's muffled laugh from across the way. "What?" she asked, glancing at him.

Dean shook his head, a thoroughly amused grin plastered on his face. "Nothing," he replied. "I'm just thinking about how much more I like you right now for getting me off the hook with that stuff." He waved to the computer.

Rachel grinned back. "So, you liked me before?"

"What's not to like, sweetheart?" He looked at Sam as Rachel laughed, rolling her eyes and focused back on the laptop screen. "Right, Sammy?"

Sam's eyes widened a little as he looked up from the laptop, shooting Dean a murderous look. "Didn't you say you were leaving?" he asked stiffly as Dean held in his laughter.

"Oh yeah," Dean nodded, barely keeping himself together. "Beer run." He stood, snickering as he grabbed his keys. "Anything I should avoid, Rachel?"

"Just all the douchebag hipster shit," she replied. She paused, looking up at him. "Unless that's what you guys drink, because—"

"Relax, sweetheart," Dean said. "You're talking to the guy whose only music he owns are six classic rock CDs in his car." He winked, then looked over at Sam, who was still gritting his teeth together. "Have fun."

Dean left, clicking the door shut behind himself. Sam tried to quell the flush that Dean's teasing gave him, stretching his neck to the side as he focused back on the laptop. "Alright," he said, deeply exhaling, "so we know he travels. And it seems like he has a pattern of victims."

"Is there a pattern for where he travels?" Rachel asked, looking through the articles with Sam.

"Only that he tends to stick to rural areas," Sam murmured.

"Easier to hide bodies?"

"Easier to hide himself too."

Rachel studied the screen intently. "What if …" Without thinking, she gripped Sam's broad shoulder, pushing up to her knees and kneeling beside him on the mattress, hunching over a little to get closer to the screen. Sam's pulse stopped for a moment as her hand remained on his shoulder for balance, her other reaching over his hand to scroll down. He smelled her shampoo lingering in her dark waves; his stomach knotted. "The victims in Missouri were all African American, and the ones in Texas were blonde Caucasians. So, what if there's more than one grigori? Gray said women were the Watchers' dominion, so—"

"Maybe they're feeding and procreating in different locations," Sam finished, barely focused on the research.

Rachel turned to look at him, immediately letting go of his shoulder and backing up when she saw how close she was. "Sorry," she stammered, sinking back. "I didn't mean to …"

"It's alright," Sam replied softly. "So," he said, wetting his dry throat, "Arioch is one of several. And if he's the Alpha-"

"-then we have a shot at destroying the others," she finished quietly.

Sam quickly wet his lips as he met Rachel's eyes. His hand clenched around the laptop, his chest tightening. "It won't be easy, but it's possible," he murmured, looking intently at her mouth.

A knock at the door smashed through the tension between them. Rachel got off the bed quickly. "I'll get it," she said, taking the money from Sam and hurrying to the door. She exhaled a breath she didn't know she was holding. _Breathe, dumbass. It's Sam Winchester. He might as well be Prince Harry with how far out of reach his is._

With a quick check through the peephole, she opened the door. A well-built delivery man with sandy brown hair and dark brown eyes was there, holding two pizzas. "Pepperoni with extra cheese, and veggie for … Van Halen?" he asked.

Rachel nodded. "How much?"

"$28.95."

She gave him $35. "Keep the change," she said, handing him the money. When he took the money, he held her hand. Rachel immediately relaxed, the tension from being so close to Sam instantly melting away. It was as if her body and mind disconnected, one running separately from the other, but both complacent.

The delivery man smiled at her, studying her as she stared blankly at him. "You're quite beautiful," he whispered, lifting her wrist to his nose and drawing in a breath, a satisfied growl in his throat as he caught the scent he longed to taste.


	6. Chapter 6

As the delivery man leaned in to say something in her ear, he caught sight of Sam on the bed, looking down at the laptop. Quickly, he pulled away, breaking the trance Rachel was in.

Rachel took the pizzas, the man leaving with an angry face she hadn't expected. "That was weird," she murmured as she shut the door, balancing the boxes as she deadbolted it shut.

"What?" Sam asked, ditching the laptop immediately and helping her with the boxes.

"Thanks," she said, looking back to the door. "He was," she explained. "I mean, I gave him a decent tip, but then he got pissy all of a sudden."

Sam shrugged, setting the pizzas down on the small table across from the beds. "Bad night, maybe?"

"Maybe."

"Want some?" Sam asked, lifting the lid to the veggie box.

"Dean …?"

Sam paused before taking a bite of a slice. "Oh," he said, realizing what she meant. "We don't really have any formalities."

"Gotcha." Rachel took a piece of veggie, chewing it gratefully. "So," she said, covering her mouth as she spoke, "how do we catch a monster we can't identify?"

"Maybe if we dig into the backgrounds of the victims, we can find a common thread between them."

"A mutual person?"

Sam nodded. "A vessel they all would know."

"Good idea."

They sat on the bed together and ate in silence, the tension climbing back into the air as Sam stole glances at Rachel. He couldn't help but notice how good she smelled when she leaned on him, or how small she actually was when her tiny hand moved over his. He shut his eyes, wiping his mouth with a napkin as he finished off his first slice. Dean really needed to get back with the beer soon—he needed to relax his mind.

"Want another?" he asked as he moved to the box and selected a slice. He caught her nod, her hand covering her mouth as she chewed the last of her first slice.

"Yes please," she said as soon as she swallowed.

Sam grabbed two pieces, showing them to her. Rachel laughed. "Am I picking?" she asked.

"Don't want you to think I kept the better slice," Sam replied with a small smile.

Rachel took the one in his right hand. "Thanks," she said softly.

Sam sat next to her on the bed, not responding, hoping to retain a bit of self-respect and control. _Stop. She's not … Just don't. Don't go there._

Dean banged on the door with very little grace, as expected. "Hey Sammy," he shouted, "if you two are decent, lemme in. This shit ain't light."

Sam saw how Rachel blushed as he stood and rested his pizza slice on the box. He gritted his teeth, opening the door and immediately giving Dean a look of warning. Dean smirked, walking past him and setting the beer down on the floor. "Started without me?" he asked, looking at them as he withdrew two beers, handing them to Sam.

Rachel's mouth opened, dread lining her stomach as she saw Dean's hurt expression. "Sam said you guys didn't …"

Dean's mouth split into a wide grin as he snatched a beer for himself. "I'm just messing with you, Rach," he said with a chuckle. "Unless you ate my pepperoni."

"No," she replied, smiling softly, still trying to recover from his teasing.

Sam sighed, snagging his slice from its resting place and sitting back down with Rachel on the bed, handing her a beer and leaning back against the headboard. "We've found that there's a possibility for more than one grigori," he informed Dean as he took a slice of pizza.

"More than one?" Dean asked through a mouthful. "Why?"

"The victims are patterned, but the patterns vary," Rachel explained, sitting her beer between her thighs as she finished her pizza.

"So, different strokes for different folks." Dean chewed thoughtfully. "Think Arioch is the Alpha?" he asked, looking at Sam.

"He might be," Sam replied, taking a drink. "His spree started before the others."

"Sam had a good idea," Rachel said, wiping her mouth with her napkin and twisting off her beer's cap. "We're going to cross-reference the victims to see if they have a mutual connection. It might help us find Arioch's vessel."

Dean nodded. "Nice. And by 'we,' you mean you guys, right?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "It wouldn't kill you to do research once in a while."

"It might," Dean objected, chewing on a second slice of pizza. "Why tempt fate after all these years, Sammy? Besides," he added, nodding to Rachel, "if you're gonna be stuck near a person for hours on end, she's definitely the better choice."

Rachel smiled, laughing softly. "It's fine," she said, shrugging. "I don't mind research. It's actually pretty interesting."

"See what I mean?" Dean took another bite. "A little nerdy match made in Chuck World."

"Okay, can someone explain 'Chuck' to me?"

"No one can, darling."

Sam shook his head. "Chuck … is God," he said.

Rachel's brow shot up. "God's name is Chuck?"

"Yeah."

She drank a long swig of her beer. "Alright then," she said after she swallowed, glancing over at Sam, whose eyes flicked back to the screen. Resting her beer on the nightstand between the double beds, she stood. "Excuse me," she murmured, slipping into the bathroom.

As soon as the door closed, Sam glared over at Dean. "Enough," he warned quietly, feeling himself getting flustered.

"What?" Dean asked, mocking innocence. "I'm just trying to help."

"No more," Sam growled.

"It's my sworn duty as your older brother to embarrass the shit out of you until you get your head out of your ass and make a move," Dean said.

"I just met her today," Sam whispered harshly. "Besides, it won't work."

"What, are you blind? Did you trade a crossroads demon your sight for height? Make a damn move." Dean shook his head, drinking his beer.

"I can't, Dean," Sam said in a cool tone. "I just can't, so let it go. Also," he added, eyes narrowed, "do not tell her about grigori feedings."

"Sam," Dean said, his voice lowering, "she has a right to know."

Sam sighed. "Just … Just not now. She can't know Hailey's likely already dead. Just let her have the hope."

Dean held his hands up and shook his head. "Alright, Sammy. Have it your way."

Rachel opened the bathroom door, coming back into the room. She immediately felt the tension as she passed by Sam, her guilt churning within. Had she upset him with her desire to help research? Sitting on the bed, next to him, she leaned against the headboard and took up her beer, drinking as she quietly watched Sam worked.

An hour passed, Dean busying himself with more beer and his phone while Sam kept his focus on the computer. Rachel stayed a distance away from Sam, giving small suggestions every now and then, hoping he wasn't mad at her.

Not very long after that, Dean was passed out on his bed, still fully clothed, sleeping deeply with gentle snores. Rachel's guilt had built to a height she couldn't withhold anymore; she edged next to Sam, the only light in the room from the glow of the computer screen. "Sam?" she whispered. He turned and looked at her immediately. "I just … I wanted to apologize if I overstepped myself." She exhaled deeply. "I didn't mean anything by it. I just wanted to help however I could."

Sam's brow arched softly. He shook his head, confused. "Why are you apologizing?" he asked.

"You're mad at me for taking the lead on the research."

Sam's smile both put her mind at ease and her stomach into flips. "I'm not mad at you at all, Rachel," he murmured. "It's nice having willing help." He searched her eyes, glancing down to her lips. "I just got ticked with Dean over something, that's all. It's not your fault in any way."

Rachel pulse quickened as Sam kept looking at her. "Okay," she managed. "I just didn't want to be a problem."

"You're not," he assured. He swallowed, studying her face. "How old are you?" He squeezed his eyes shut, his head hanging right after he asked. "Sorry," he said, laughing softly through his utter embarrassment, "I shouldn't have asked that."

"It's okay," she said, giving him an encouraging smile as he dared to look back up. "27."

"Really?" He looked surprised.

"Yeah," she laughed. "I know. I have a baby face. It's the bane of my existence," she sighed. "People don't take me seriously most times because of it. Having a baby face in this line of work is frustrating."

Sam nodded. "It's certainly not a face to be ashamed of, though," he replied quietly.

Rachel gulped, a sizeable lump lodging in her throat. "Thanks."

The laptop dinged, and they turned their attention toward it. "I set up a notification for news matching potential search perimeters," Sam explained, following the alert to a news article just published. He swallowed. "Looks like something similar is happening in North Carolina."

"Sam, if Arioch isn't the Alpha, how do we stop them?"

He sighed. "I'm not sure."

Rachel planted herself next to Sam, her back pressed against the headboard as he dug deeper through each victim. She gave him suggestions interspersed through his research, her eyes heavy from the beer. She wasn't too good at holding her alcohol, and beer usually made her really sleepy.

Some time passed, and Sam stifled a yawn as he stared at the screen, feeling nearly cross-eyed from reading so much. "I'm going to pack it in," he said softly, closing the laptop. He didn't hear a response, and realized there was a bit of weight leaning on his side. He turned gently, finding Rachel out cold next to him, her head resting on his shoulder. With a small smile, Sam set the laptop aside and tried to wake her up. "Rachel?" he whispered, giving her a gentle rub on her arm. She stirred, but didn't wake. "Rachel," he tried again, tucking her hair behind her ear. It was midnight silk between his fingers. _The beer._ She had finished off two and a half bottles. _Maybe she's a lightweight_. Sam glanced to the bed they sat on, then back at Rachel. With a wince, he slid his arms under her back and thighs, lifting her up and gently laying her down so her head was on the pillow. Carefully, he withdrew her glasses and set them on the nightstand. He watched her stir, her cheek pressing into it the pillow as she stilled. Exhaling in relief, he gently unlaced her tennis shoes, slipped them off, and put them on the floor, then drew the blankets over her.

Grabbing his laptop, Sam moved to the small armchair in the far corner of the room near the bureau, bending and adjusting until it was somewhat comfortable. After a while, his eyes grew heavy, his head luling back against the wall as sleep found him.


	7. Chapter 7

Rachel woke the next morning, her cheek and mouth pressed into cheap cotton blend sheets, a blanket over her. Her hair was tangled around her face, and she pawed at it as she slowly sat up. Her eyes widened. She was in Sam and Dean's room. Immediately, she sighed in relief as she realized she was fully dressed. It was embarrassing how much of a lightweight she was. Had she not been so concerned about making Sam mad, the two beers she had the night before might've been far more dangerous.

Dean's bed was empty, from what she could tell without her glasses, and she was alone. She heard the shower running, and she scrambled up, hunting through squinted eyes for her frames until she saw them on the nightstand. Once they were on, she stood, looking for her shoes as she heard the shower shut off. They were resting neatly at the foot of the bed. She snatched them, slipping them on and lacing them as fast as she could. She couldn't afford to make things any more awkward than they felt to her—she had to get out, and fast. Rachel wasn't 100% sure why she was embarrassed at the thought of sleeping in their room, but the feeling controlled her as she stood and headed for the door.

The bathroom door opened, and she knew—she KNEW—she shouldn't turn toward it, but she did anyway. Sam was in the doorway in the process of tugging a black tee shirt over his head to his bare torso, his jeans slung low on his hips. _Oh dear God_. All it took was one quick glance, and the image was forever burned into her mind. With no semblance of grace, Rachel busted out of the room, feeling her pocket for her key and letting herself in a few doors down.

Rachel breathed a sigh of relief when she deadbolted her motel room door. She wasn't sure if Sam saw her or not, but she definitely saw him. And good God or Chuck or whatever, it was a sight. His body was way beyond chiseled, more like carved to perfection. It almost didn't look real with how muscular and defined it was. He had a tattoo over his heart—what of, she didn't really know—but shit, what she wouldn't give to be that little sucker stuck for life on his firm pectorals.

 _Cold shower._ That would fix her flustered mental state. She tore through her travel bag, digging out jeans, a green knit shirt, and fresh undergarments, racing into her bathroom and shutting the door.

The icy water definitely distracted her for a bit from the mental image that haunted her, and her teeth were chattering by the end. It was a severe punishment, but one she definitely had to exact on herself. _Out. Of. Your. League.,_ she drilled into her brain, dressing and blow-drying her hair part way, leaving the remainder to air dry.

She threw some light makeup on, though she only really did it intending to delay seeing Sam again for as long as she could. When her socks and tennis shoes were on, her gun strapped to her ankle, her wallet in her back pocket, and an elastic band around her wrist for her hair, she drew in a deep breath and left, heading back to the boys' room.

Dean let her in, a partially eaten muffin in his hand. "Got some for you," he said as she closed the door behind herself, reluctantly turning toward them.

"Thanks," she murmured, bee-lining for the breakfast foods, hoping to avoid Sam's eyes. Still, she felt him watching her from his spot on his bed, the laptop in his lap but his focus far from it. She uncapped a miniature bottle of orange juice, downing it to quench her dried out throat, keeping her back mostly to him. _For crap sake, act normal._ She turned slowly, finding Sam's eyes fixed on her. She held his gaze, smiling to attempt bypassing awkwardness, but she failed miserably, he the first to look away back down to the screen.

Rachel's phone rang in her pocket. She read the number, tapping it to answer. "Markson." She looked up, seeing the two brothers watching. "When?" she asked, her voice softer, her brow wrinkling. She was silent for a few beats. "Okay. We'll be there." Hanging up, she felt herself sobering very quickly. "They found a body at Kerner Packing Plant," she said, looking between Dean and Sam, who stood immediately, setting aside the laptop.

"Where Gray worked," Sam concluded.

She nodded. "They don't … It's not Hailey. They think it was one of the first women to go missing. The decay indicates whoever it was has been gone for some time."

"Want to ride with us?" Dean offered. "Save on the gas?"

Rachel managed a small smile. "Thanks. That would be great."

* * *

They changed into suits, Rachel foregoing breakfast for the sake of time. The plant wasn't terribly far away, but they wanted to arrive before any real FBI came.

Sam glanced down at Rachel, who had opted for hip and rear hugging trousers and a blazer. It wasn't any better than the skirt he saw her in yesterday—it might've even been worse. He bit the inside of his cheek, reminding himself of his own decision as he felt a twinge of disappointment not seeing her in her glasses.

He knew she saw him come out of the bathroom that morning. He caught the flash of her dark hair swinging before the door slammed. Being alone with Dean so much made him forget how to be around a woman—he probably made her uncomfortable. Of course he did. He'd somehow screw things up before they even began. He sighed, briefly remembering the weight of her head on his shoulder the night before with a small smile as they approached the mass of police. He didn't even realize she fell asleep, but when he did, he couldn't help but watch her for a moment. She was at such peace, her lips gently parted, her hair draped over him. She seemed comfortable, as if she knew him for years.

The stench of the plant sewer run-off was nearly unbearable, the orange juice Rachel drank threatening to lurch back up her throat. It wasn't exactly cold out, so it made for a foul experience. Rachel caught Dean's wrinkled nose, grateful she wasn't the only one who was affected.

"Russell, Elliott, and Markson, FBI," Dean introduced them to the lead officer as he showed his badge, Sam and Rachel following suit. "What've we got here?"

"We'll have to wait for the dental records," the officer said, "but from what we know of the disappearances, this appears to be our first missing woman, Sarah Cartwright."

The three followed the officer into the heart of the scene and to a fully zipped body bag on the ground. Dean squatted down, opening the bag until they saw the woman's face. Rachel's eyes rounded. She had never seen discoloration like this on a body. It wasn't normal by any means. "We're hoping the autopsy can tell us why she looks that particular shade of … green," the officer commented.

"She was missing for three years, correct?" Sam asked.

"Just about. Three years later this month."

Rachel pulled out her phone, scanning through the photos she took of the pictures from the file until she rested on Sarah Cartwright. In the picture, she was beautiful and vibrant, but her body now was truly just a shell, a hardened exterior that once housed a soul long since gone.

Dean stood, looking at the officer. "Anyone see anything as far as suspects? Any cars or activity?"

The officer shook his head. "Nothing. The employee who found the body is Ricardo Nuñez. He's on the B-7 line. He says he pulled up and saw something large floating. That's when he called the police when he saw it was a body.

The three looked up toward the nearby employee lot. "Is he working now?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. We spoke with him, but you're welcome to as well."

Dean nodded. "Be sure to let us know the autopsy findings."

"Will do."

Dean led the charge up toward the plant, holding the door open for Rachel as he and Sam walked in after her. The environment was a sterile, icy metal cage, conveyor belts groaning as slabs of beef were primed at different stations. Large sections of carcasses were hung on giant hooks, people in full white gear attacking them expertly with giant knives and saws. Rachel wasn't expecting the nausea she felt from it all, turning away from observing the main floor to distract herself with something else.

Sam touched the small of her back, and she looked up at him. "You okay?" he asked, his concern evident.

She nodded. "It's just not a very good environment on an empty stomach."

"We'll get you some food after this."

"I'm alright."

He watched Dean heading toward a section of the plant marked B. "You coming?" he asked, looking down at her.

"I think I'll just hang out here, in case … someone needs to talk to us or something."

Sam gently rubbed the dip in her spine with a small nod, slipping away from her side as he headed toward the direction Dean went. She watched him, her skin tingling from his delicate, considerate touch, even through her suit.

Rachel drew in a deep breath, pacing a bit as she waited away from the heart of the action, keeping her eyes on the signs posted on the walls. There were certificates of health inspection, employee of the month pictures, and a picture from 1933 of Francis Kerner, the owner and founder of the plant.

"Are you FBI?"

She turned to the voice, her brow raising as she saw the pizza delivery man from the night before. He was wearing the full white uniform as everyone else, but his was pristine, spotless. "Yes," she replied, feeling unusually hesitant.

"Shame what happened," he said, stepping closer to her. "That girl's been missing for a while."

"Hopefully her family can find closure."

"Hopefully."

"So, you work two jobs?"

He nodded. "Have to pay the bills somehow."

"Did you know the victim?"

"No, I didn't. Only through the local news." He laughed softly. "I'm sorry, where are my manners? Peter Nash," he said, holding out his hand. He flashed her a charming smile; he was a good-looking man, but still no Sam Winchester. "I promise, it's clean."

"Meg Markson," she replied, taking his hand. Her brow wrinkled when she touched him, her nausea from the morning washing away as he held her in his grip.

"Meg," he repeated. "That's a nice name."

"Thanks," she murmured, unsure what she was even referring to.

Peter stepped closer, still grasping her hand. "Is it your real name, though?"

For whatever reason, the truth effortlessly flowed from her like an open tap. "... No."

"Tell me what it is."

"Rachel Lentz," she whispered.

Peter smiled. "What a beautiful name for such a beautiful woman." He gently stroked her cheek, the action blocked from sight by his body. "Tell me, are the two men with you hunters, Rachel?" he asked, his voice soft.

Her reply came like it was automatic. "Yes."

"What are their names."

"Sam and Dean Winchester."

"The Winchester boys," he said with an arched brow, a satisfied hum in his throat. "Well, that's just excellent. But still, I think they will get in the way of us, don't you?"

Rachel stared at him, looking straight through him. "Yes."

"So, we should talk somewhere else, right?" he asked, his breath moving over her wrist as he lifted it to his nose and sniffed it with an almost erotic shudder.

She was still, hypnotized by his touch. Her mind was separate from her body, but neither functioned in a usual way as he held her hand. Every move was scripted, only she wasn't the writer. "Yes."

"Good," Peter murmured, kissing the delicate skin under her hand. "Where would you like to go, my Rachel?"

Before she could answer, Sam's voice shouted from across the way. "Meg!" he called, jogging over to her. When Sam initially caught sight of the man in front of Rachel from across the plant, red flags shot up everywhere, and he automatically went on the defense.

Peter's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching as he kept his back to Sam. He let go of Rachel's hand, maintaining an innocent appearance and a respectable distance as he rattled on about the missing woman. "...So, it's just a shame for the family," he concluded as Sam approached.

Rachel blinked hard for a moment, as if adjusting herself back into the scene, then she nodded at Peter. "It is. But hopefully we'll find the person responsible soon."

"Can I help you?" Sam asked Peter as he pushed between them, everything about him challenging Peter in that moment.

Peter held his hands up with a small laugh. "Easy, big guy. Just wanted to talk," he said, taking a step back.

"About what?" Sam asked, his nostrils flaring a little.

"He's fine, Agent Elliott," Rachel said, her brow raised at Sam as she took in his odd behavior.

Sam wasn't convinced. He kept his eye on Peter as he walked away. "Nice to meet you, Meg," Peter said with a nod, returning to the main floor.

"What the hell?" Rachel snapped when Peter left earshot as Sam turned her to himself.

"What were you talking about?" Sam demanded.

"The case, you dufus!"

"And that's it?"

She scoffed. If she was being honest, she wasn't sure if she and Peter had talked about anything else. The interaction seemed like a smudge of a moment in her mind. "Yes," she replied coolly, maintaining a hard appearance to avoid showing Sam any weakness. "What, when I'm with you two, I'm not allowed to talk to people?" she asked, putting her hands on her hips. She saw a genuine concern in Sam's eyes, but she couldn't depart the train of anger she had jumped on.

Sam looked over his shoulder in the direction Peter went. "So, he just wanted to chat you up over a dead body?" he asked, turning back to her.

Rachel rolled her eyes. "For God's sake, Sam," she said in a hoarse whisper, "I think I can handle myself."

Dean came over to them, his brows knitted tightly as he saw their expressions. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Nothing," Rachel said, purposefully brushing by Sam as she left for the exit.

"Yeah," Dean said, watching her leave, "that's a whole lot of nothing." He looked up, finding Sam still tensed. "What happened?"

"She was talking with someone," he murmured, turning his eyes away from her.

"Jealous?"

"No, Dean," he groaned. "Whoever she was talking to was way too friendly, even to just be flirting."

"So, you are jealous."

Sam sighed. "Rachel fits Arioch's type to a T. We found a body here. Who's to say he isn't hanging out?"

"You think Arioch was in the dude's meat suit just now?"

"I don't know," Sam replied. "I just know that we're going to need to keep an eye on her."

Before he could even hear Dean agree, Sam was headed for the exit, quickly leaving the plant and finding Rachel near the Impala, kicking at a rock with the toe of her heeled boot. "Rachel," Sam said softly when he was close, stopping in front of her.

"Sorry," she said sarcastically, "I know I should've asked your permission to leave."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. "That's not what this is about," he argued, stepping closer. "You are Arioch's type to the letter. Who's to say he isn't trying to lure you without you knowing it?"

"So, because a person of the opposite sex interacts with me, they must want to kill me?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "No," he replied with a slight growl. "But we don't know how this grigori works. You're exactly what he likes, though, so can you try to understand where my concern is coming from?"

Rachel looked up at Sam, seeing the worry in his hazel eyes. He was right. She wasn't used to someone having her back, but she definitely could afford it on this particular job. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I get it."

Sam's hand rested on her small shoulder. "It's alright. I just got worried."

Her chest tightened at the idea. Instead of facing it with a mature response, she hid behind teasing sarcasm. "Aww, you do care," she said with a smirk.

His lips curled up at the sides a little. "Did you doubt that?"

Rachel's throat ran dry. "Maybe."

Sam's gaze shifted, a serious tone taking over him as he slid his hand down her arm, brushing his fingers against her hand. "You shouldn't," he said softly, giving her hand the gentlest of squeezes. His touch was light but electric, his eyes more intense than she could handle.

"Well, who's hungry?" Dean asked as he approached.

Sam pulled his hand back, clearing his throat. Neither responded right away. "I could use some non-beef food," Rachel finally said, turning away from Sam and climbing into the back of the Impala.

"Yeah, sure. Food," Sam said, sitting in the front passenger seat and shutting the door.

"Oh yeah," Dean mumbled as he walked around to the driver's side. "Absolutely nothing going on here at all."


	8. Chapter 8

After eating, the three returned to the motel, Sam resuming his research on the bed while Dean busied himself cleaning his gun. Rachel stayed on the armchair, doing her own research on her phone. Dean quietly observed the tension between Sam and Rachel, taking a break from his gun to send Sam a text:

 **Dude. The air is killing me because it's so thick with bullshit tension between you two. Let me know if you want me to leave so you can get down to business. ;)**

Sam received it, holding back from rolling his eyes as he replied:

 **Shut it, Dean.**

Dean put down his phone with an exaggerated sigh. "Anything yet, bookworms?" he asked, glancing between the two.

Rachel looked up. "I may have found something, actually." She stood, coming toward the brothers. "We know that Arioch at least has a type, so I've been scouring social media to see if the women themselves had a type. They don't." She sat on the edge of the bed as Sam and Dean peered down at her phone. "But, I did find a common thread for hobbies—the women are all avid readers."

"So, librarian meat suit?" Dean asked.

Sam was quiet for a moment as he typed away on his laptop. "Take a look at this." He showed them a local news article from about three years prior, a photo of a man holding a novel.

"'Book Signing For The Lincoln Book Society,'" Rachel read.

"Who runs the society?" Dean asked.

"Looks like a guy named Daniel Thurman," Sam replied.

"Thurman." Rachel's eyes widened; she took Sam's arm. "Related to Kyle Thurman?"

Sam did a quick search, pulling up a picture. Kyle looked nearly like his dad. "Yep. They're also members of the Life Water Tabernacle - a Pentecostal community."

"Grigoris are angels," Dean noted, "so they'd need their vessel's permission."

"Perfect for those with charismatic belief," Rachel concluded.

"I say we go track down Daniel Thurman."

"Dean," Sam said, "I'll handle Thurman. You take Rachel to the church to talk to the pastor."

Rachel looked at Sam. "We're splitting up?"

"Not sure that's a good call, Sammy," Dean agreed. "If Thurman remembers contact with the vessel, then he may remember where the women are being kept. Then whatever we find at the church won't matter."

Sam shut his eyes. "Dean, can I talk to you outside?" He didn't really wait, instead standing and walking to the motel room door, Dean following behind. Once outside, Sam turned and faced him. "I'm trying to keep her from getting killed," Sam argued in a hushed tone. "We take her to Thurman, and we have no idea if Arioch is still in there. If it's just me, he won't react."

" _If_ Arioch is still in Thurman's meat suit," Dean corrected. "Going up against a grigori yourself is not smart or safe."

"Dean-"

"Sam, I get it. I understand. But she's safer with both of us with her than just one of us, right?" Dean asked. "There's strength in numbers. We'll keep her from him." Dean patted his brother's shoulder. "Have a little faith." He leaned in, just before going back inside. "And for God's sake, make a damn move soon, or I will."

Sam's eyes narrowed as he watched Dean walk away. He knew Dean purposely spiked his competitive side, but he couldn't help the territorial feeling regardless. "Dammit, Dean," he growled, going back inside and shutting the door.

Rachel stood, watching them approach. "Guys," she said, "don't we need an angel blade or angel sword?"

"I doubt Arioch is in there," Dean replied. "He's likely long gone." He looked Rachel over. "You okay with this?"

"I'm fine with it," she replied, glancing at Sam. "As long as you both are."

Sam was quiet as he looked down at her for a long moment. He gave a soft nod, turning and gathering his gun and knife.

"You armed?" Dean asked Rachel.

"I've got a P-32 in my ankle holster," she replied.

"Great. You can give the grigori a paper cut."

"Well, do you want to give me something bigger and somewhere to put it?"

Dean grinned, looking her over. "I can definitely give you something bigger, sweetheart," he said, seeing how Rachel blushed in response. "I think we can figure out the rest."

"You need a shoulder holster," Sam practically growled, coming to her side as he tucked his gun in his own shoulder holster. He gave Dean an icy look that Rachel didn't notice.

"I've got a backup, but she'll swim in it," Dean offered, not missing his brother's annoyance.

"We'll get you one," Sam assured Rachel, looking down at her with a small smile. "If you're hanging around with us for any period of time, you're going to need it."

"Are you two dangerous or something?" she teased. "I could've sworn I had teamed up with two teddy bears."

Dean chuckled. "Oh, I can assure you that I'm no teddy bear." He smirked, giving her a wink. "Unless you'd like proof for yourself."

"I'll take a rain check," Rachel replied with a laugh, feeling Sam's eyes on her. A quick look to her left confirmed it—they were nearly piercing right through her.

"Sammy, on the other hand, well …" Dean looked over at him. "He's a giant puppy dog." Sam shot Dean an icy look in response.

"So you attract the bad girls, huh?" Rachel asked Dean, putting on her blazer.

"He seeks out the bad ones," Sam corrected gruffly. "Trouble always likes more trouble."

"Gotta keep it interesting," Dean shrugged. "She knows what I mean."

Rachel immediately got warmer from her flush. "Are you trying to imply that I'm a bad girl?"

"You tell me," Dean said with a raised brow.

She shook her head with a smile, silently grabbing her overcoat and heading out of the room. When she disappeared from sight, Sam grabbed Dean's shoulder. "I'm going to murder you while you sleep. You know that, right?" he whispered.

Dean shook out of Sam's light grasp, shrugging. "Can't handle the competition?"

"I can't believe you're serious right now," Sam mumbled, shaking his head.

"As a heart attack, Sammy. So, make a move … while you still can," he challenged with a wink, slinging on his coat and sauntering out of the room.

Sam's blood boiled; Dean knew exactly which buttons to push, which pissed him off. Though he knew Dean's motivation behind it, it didn't make his blatant flirting any easier. With a growl, Sam shut and locked the motel room door, stalking downstairs to the Impala.

Dean leaned his left elbow on his door as he sat in the driver's seat, covering his chuckle with his mouth as Sam got in the car. He knew his tactic would piss Sam off, and it was kind of amusing to see. But dammit, Sam just needed to go for it, and he was going to make sure he jumped off the ledge, no matter what it took.

* * *

The drive to Daniel Thurman's residence was quiet; Rachel kept her focus on the scenery out of the window as Dean drove. They had made steps to finding Hailey, but she couldn't shake the feeling that their efforts were in vain-not after hearing how Sam and Dean talked about the difficulty in killing a grigori. She felt herself quickly losing hope, and knew it must have been evident when they exited the car.

Rachel felt Sam's gentle touch on her back, his fingers seemingly attracted to the low curve. "You okay?" he asked. She nodded. She couldn't afford to be weak, not now. Hailey was depending on her strength. He paused her, turning her to himself. "You sure?" he asked, nothing but concern in his eyes.

"I'll be fine," she assured with a smile that didn't really convince him, slipping away from his embrace to follow Dean to the front door.

Daniel Thurman answered, and all three took out their badges, holding them up. "Daniel Thurman?" Dean asked. "Agents Russell, Elliott, and Markson, FBI."

Daniel's eyes widened. "Is everything alright?" he asked.

"We want to ask you about the local missing women," Sam said, tucking his badge away.

"I'm afraid I don't know much about it," Daniel admitted. "It's just terrible what happened."

"Three of the four women missing were in your book club," Rachel said, her tone cool. "You sure you don't know much about it?"

The accusation clearly made Daniel nervous. "I'm aware, but I can assure you, I don't know anything about their disappearances."

"Then let's just talk about them," Dean said, forcing a smile. Reluctantly, Daniel opened the door, Dean ushering Rachel in first, the two brothers following.

"Please, have a seat," Daniel offered, only Dean taking one.

"So," Dean began, leaning forward as he sat on the edge of the couch, "what can you tell us about the women?"

"They were very nice," Daniel said, sitting. "Kind. Considerate. Very … normal."

"As opposed to what?"

"Well, they weren't promiscuous or involved with anything illicit, at least not that I knew of."

"You're a member of the Life Water Tabernacle, correct?" Sam asked, his hands in his pockets, flicking his eyes to Rachel as she slowly wandered around the room.

"I am. I'm actually the associate pastor."

"Did any of the women attend the church?"

"Three of the four missing, yes. My son had met the youngest one, Hailey, at college."

"Were they long time members of the church?" Dean asked.

Daniel nodded. "Decently. We're a smaller community."

"Does Kyle attend the church?" Rachel asked.

"Yes. He's a training youth pastor."

"According to Pentecostal belief," Sam said, taking a small step toward Daniel, "you open yourself to the possession of the Holy Spirit, correct?"

"Yes, that's right."

"What about angels?"

"I mean … sure, it could be asked for."

"Did you ever ask to be a vessel for an angel?"

Daniel's brow raised. "I'm sorry, am I under some sort of suspicion?"

"No," Sam said, "but we do want to get an idea of the relationship between your faith and these disappearances."

"So you think these were religiously-motivated kidnappings?"

"We're not sure at the moment," Dean replied. "But we like to be thorough."

"I just never heard of Federal agents being interested in those types of possibilities," Daniel admitted with a soft laugh.

"We're not your typical agents."

Daniel inhaled deeply. "Yes, I have asked to be used as a vessel before, but nothing has ever come of it."

"Do you think you would remember if you did become one?" Sam asked.

"I would suppose I would have some sort of memory."

"Mister Thurman," Rachel said, paused over the end table across from Dean. "Do you have a particular interest in dream analysis?" She held up a small book on the subject, looking to him.

Sam and Dean saw Daniel's subtle panic. "I … I've had some odd dreams lately, but that's all they are," he said quickly.

"Are you sure about that?" Rachel stepped closer, still holding the book.

Daniel drew in a deep breath. "I did have a couple dreams involving the women. _After_ they went missing."

"Describe them," Dean said, watching Daniel closely.

"I'm sure it's just too much news broadcast information filtering in my brainwaves," Daniel replied in a dismissive tone.

"Humor me."

"Well …" The three watched him intently. "I dreamt about I assume where they were kept. It was dark, and wet. It didn't seemed to be somewhere occupied. There were large poles."

Dean barely waited through Daniel's pause. "What else? Did you see anything else? Smell anything? Hear anything?"

Daniel shook his head. "The only other thing I remember is a sweet smell."

"Like what?" Sam asked.

"I'm … I'm not sure." Daniel sighed. "I just assumed this was all a manifestation of news and movies I've seen."

"Did you see any of the victims in your dreams?" Rachel asked.

"No," Daniel admitted.

Rachel returned the book to the table, crossing back over to Sam. "You said Kyle knew Hailey from school?"

"Briefly. He invited her to church once or twice, but I don't believe she ever came."

"Your son was the last person to see Hailey," she noted, slowly approaching.

"I am aware." Daniel's brow furrowed. "Is my son under suspicion?"

"No," Sam replied. "But we do ask that you both make yourselves available for further questioning if needed. Can you give us Kyle's contact information in case we need to speak with him?"

"Of course," Daniel replied, standing; Dean stood with him. Daniel briefly left the room, returning with a piece of paper that had a phone number on it. "That's his cell. He should be at the service tonight, though. If there's nothing else, agents, I need to get ready for tonight's service." He looked at all of them. "You're welcome to attend, if you'd like. It is an intercessory service."

"What's that?" Dean asked.

"A service where those with need come and pray to receive intercession on behalf of God through the Holy Spirit. It's at seven o'clock."

Sam glanced over to Dean. "Sure. We'll be there."

Daniel smiled. "Wonderful. Perhaps then we can ask God to intervene on behalf of those missing."

Dean tried to give a polite smile, but mostly failed. "Perhaps."

* * *

"So," Rachel said as they climbed back into the Impala, "I got warehouse from that."

"Same. Which doesn't really narrow it down," Dean concluded.

"I'll run an area search of warehouses and see what I come up with."

Sam nodded. "I'll help."

As Dean started the car, Rachel leaned forward. "Are we really going to the service?"

"I figure it's a good way to see what we're working with," Sam explained. "Maybe something will reveal itself along the way."

Sam saw her expression shift in the rear view mirror, catching her hesitance and a bit of fear. "Oh," she said quietly, leaning back. "Yeah. Sure." She took a deep breath. "So the dreams … they're likely the memories he had when Arioch used him as a vessel?"

"More than likely."

"Then Kyle could have been a vessel unknowingly too, right?"

Dean nodded. "Very possible. So, you nerds have four hours to search until it's church time."

"Anyone hear back about the autopsy?" Sam asked.

"No," Rachel sighed.

"Well, for now, we'll do what we can with what Thurman gave us."


	9. Chapter 9

Sam and Rachel scoured the internet for potential warehouses, coming up with a short list of possibilities. When they drove out to them, though, they were dead ends, none of them proving to even have remote possibility of being the place they needed.

They had spent so much time in the car that when Dean parked the Impala in front of Life Water Tabernacle, Rachel was fast asleep, her head against the back window. "Rachel," Sam murmured, gently rubbing her arm. She popped up, scared by Sam's touch. "Sorry," he said, withdrawing his hand when she jumped. "We're here."

"Shit, sorry," she said, blinking heavily. "I didn't realize I fell asleep."

"It's okay."

Sam helped her out of the car, and the three entered the church about five minutes before seven, taking seats in the pew furthest away from the main gathering of people. "Am I the only one really uncomfortable right now?" Rachel asked softly. "I mean, I believe in God, but these kind of churches legitimately scare me." She wasn't joking, but the brothers seemed to think she was.

"You're not alone," Dean replied in kind.

"Just wait until it gets started," Sam added, his foot bouncing as they waited, seated between Rachel and Dean. He hadn't meant to place himself there, but in letting Rachel go first, it naturally happened.

His mind wandered to earlier, to Dean's challenge. It had been so long since he had a relationship of any kind that he was bound to mess something up almost immediately, or so it felt. Dean had gotten used to one or two night stands, but it was never Sam's flavor.

Rachel was young, though-eight years younger than him, to be exact. It wasn't a terrible difference, but enough of one that made him wonder if it was the right thing to pursue. She knew the life, so it made the "what do you do for a living" phase a breeze, but he wasn't sure if it made things any easier as far as worry. Hunter or not, he would be concerned of whoever he was with getting hurt because of what he did.

Hunting was a lonely existence, though. He loved his brother, but it wasn't the same as having a relationship with a woman, both for the obvious and non-obvious reasons. He had tasted it with Jess, and it was amazing. Still, he had lost her because of who he was. It forever weighed on him, the idea of anyone he got close to either leaving or dying. Rachel had so much life to live. He couldn't take that away from her.

He knew Dean wouldn't relent, though. His brother had good intentions, but didn't-couldn't-understand his fear. Dean was able to make flings work for him. Sam knew his brother would love a meaningful relationship as well, but the literal perfect woman would have to drop into his lap with a flashing neon sign and a guarantee for him to consider putting himself on the line emotionally. True, Sam was no better lately at opening himself to the possibility, but at least he had done it before.

 _And it failed every time._

Sam inhaled deeply, focusing on the video screen that hung at the front of the church. People were filtering in, boisterous conversations filling the space around them.

Two older women passed by their aisle, glancing over at Dean, who flashed them a charming smile. "Evening, ladies," he said with a nod.

"Oh, well aren't you just a handsome thing," one doted, waving a paper fan in front of her face.

"You flatter me," Dean replied, "but the real beauty is right in front of me." Rachel smirked as the older women practically giggled like school girls. "The name's Dean, but feel free to call me whatever you'd like." He winked, then nodded to Sam. "This is Sam, my brother, and our friend, Rachel."

She saw their eyes shift to Sam, who offered a polite smile, markedly less comfortable than Dean. "Good evening," he offered.

"Oh my word," the other with a large beaded necklace said. "Jesus reached down and doubly blessed the two of you, didn't he?"

Rachel spotted the sexiest dimples she ever saw on a man as Sam smiled, he clearly a bit embarrassed. They made her stomach knot.

The fan woman leaned in. "You know, I've got a couple granddaughters around your age."

"Are you telling me I'm too young for you, darling?" Dean grinned.

They laughed again, the one's fan fluttering faster. They waved him off, starting for their seats. "Praise the Lord for his creations. Mm-mm-mm," the one with the fan said as they left.

"Well, you just got a raw deal, Rachel," Dean murmured, leaning back a little to see her past Sam.

"I'm fine with that," Rachel laughed. "I think they got a little tongue-tied over you anyway."

"I have that effect on women. Except you." He eyed her playfully. "Maybe I've got to up my game a bit."

Rachel didn't reply, laughing softly and ducking away from his eyes. Dean was certainly handsome and quite the charmer, but she instantly had been drawn to Sam. Except, Sam didn't seem to vocalize his interest as well as Dean-if he even had any.

Sam leaned to his right, softly whispering in Dean's ear as he kept his focus forward. "You're really going to do this in a church?"

Dean leaned in, whispering back. "I'll keep doing it until you make a move."

"You're unbelievable."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

Sam sat back up, clearing his throat as the band up front began to play. Everyone rose to their feet except the three of them, the crowd resembling a gospel concert more than a church service.

Rachel tensed as the crowd swelled and grew more and more enthusiastic, her hands fidgeting in her lap. Memories flooded over her, and she tried her best to shove them aside and focus on the case. Still, it was difficult. The service was the same as it had been when she was a teen, the night she let three boys from the youth group drive her home, boys who she once considered friends. Only, they didn't take her home-instead, they drove her out to a remote area not far from the church and each raped her. It was horrific. She was a virgin, only fifteen.

That night was the beginning of when she realized her family never truly loved her. It took her forever to convince her parents she wasn't lying, and when she finally did, her father forced to keep her silence because of his position in church politics. He made her attend service every Sunday until she was seventeen, when she emancipated herself left home. Calling Alex a werewolf sealed the deal-they told her she was no longer welcome in their lives, nor did they consider her their daughter.

Dinner threatened to come up as people started clapping and chanting, and she bolted from the pew to the door, drawing in deep breaths of cool night air outside as she tried to calm her pulse. She didn't hear Sam, who immediately followed after her, and she jumped and turned when he put a gentle hand on her back. "Shit," she shuddered, when she realized it was just him.

"What's wrong?" he asked, searching her eyes.

"I just … I can't be in there."

Rachel quickly turned, moving toward an area with bushes and hurled. Sam moved to her side, holding her hair away from her face as she coughed. He rubbed her back through it and as she straightened, offering a tissue from his pocket for her mouth. "Thanks," she murmured. "I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologize," Sam replied, tucking her hair behind her ear as she dabbed her mouth. His hand rubbed small circles into her upper back. "Do you want to talk about it?" She shook her head. "Okay," he assured. "You don't have to."

"You should go back in with Dean," she said, looking away as she felt her tears coming.

"Dean's fine. I'm not going anywhere."

Sam didn't realize it until Rachel leaned into his touch that he was stroking her hair. She kept her back mostly to him, chewing on her lip as she tried not to look pathetic. Sam recalled her saying that these type of churches scared her, but he hadn't realized that she was serious. Whatever association it had, it was not pleasant.

Gently, he turned her to himself, his hand splayed across her upper back. The sounds of the music muffled toward them as it filtered outside, but all he could hear was his own pulse deafening his ears. He hooked her chin between his thumb and index finger, lifting her head to look into her eyes. "Whatever it is," he whispered, "know that I'm right here, and I won't let anything happen to you."

His caring words warmed her, his thumb running over her chin making her chest tighten. Though his face was partially shadowed, she saw the honesty and intensity of his eyes, the truth behind them. "Thank you," she managed, hating how he saw her broken and weak. "I'm okay."

"You're not," he corrected. "And it's nothing to be ashamed of, Rachel. You don't need to prove anything to me or Dean."

She swallowed, searching his eyes with a shiver; she wasn't sure if it was from his touch or the cool air. Immediately, he let her go and stripped off his jacket, adding it over her shoulders. "You'll be cold," she whispered.

"I'm fine," he assured, drawing the front of the coat tighter over her. She nestled into it; his cologne was buried in the fibers, his body heat still clinging to the fabric. Sam combed her hair away from her face, his thumb gliding over her cheek. She shivered, but only from Sam's affectionate touch. He took her hand, holding it with a carefully firm grip. "Come on. Let's get you inside."

The music was still going, but a bit gentler once they got back to the pew. Sam slid into the pew first, guiding Rachel to sit tightly next to him. He put his left arm around her, his right squeezing her hand as he felt her tremble a little. He dipped down, his mouth near her ear. "I'm right here," he reminded her in a whisper. Sam exhaled deeply as Rachel pressed her cheek to his shoulder, drawing his coat around herself.

Sam looked over at Dean, who watched with concern. He nodded his head gently, to which Dean responded in kind, his brows still drawn tight with worry.

He kept his arm around her and her hand in his for the entire service, gently stroking her, reminding her with a whisper in her ear that he was there when he felt her shiver. Rachel stayed within Sam's embrace, never feeling more secure in her life.

Dean took up the bulk of the observation, watching closely to see if there were any shifts in behavior once people started asking for intercession. At the end of the service, he watched people leave, trying to find any signs of possession he could. Still, he didn't see anything, leaving them at yet another dead end.

"I'm going to use the bathroom," Rachel said as they stood, sliding Sam's coat off of her shoulders. The two brothers watched as she rounded the corner and disappeared, Sam shutting his eyes and hanging his head.

"What happened out there?" Dean asked.

"This place brought up some kind of bad memory," Sam replied. "She wouldn't tell me."

Dean nodded, patting Sam's back. "You seemed to help her, though. So. truce, considering the circumstances," he decided; he gave Sam a soft smile. "I never had a shot anyway."

* * *

Rachel washed her hands in the bathroom, drying them with a brown paper towel that she crumpled and threw in the garbage. She was eager to get back to Sam and Dean, more than ready to leave and never come back.

She went to grab her phone from her pocket as she left the bathroom, knocking into someone. She looked up quickly, a tall man looking back down at her. He had hair similar to Sam's, and nearly looked like him, but he was just a touch shorter, and maybe a touch smaller. "Sorry," she said, going to move around him. He grabbed her hand, and she froze, her tension melting away. Her brow wrinkled as she looked at him; he smiled down at her.

"I've been trying to find what you like," he said quietly. "I couldn't take the vessel I wanted, unfortunately, because he warded himself, and would never ask to be used anyway. But I think I did well, don't you?" She nodded, not really hearing his question. "Good. Because I'd like to give you what you desire, Rachel." He pet her cheek. "It only works if you're happy. Does this make you happy?"

"Yes," she murmured, her mind blank.

"Excellent." He drew her to himself, his hand running through her hair. "You're different than most of the others, Rachel," he whispered, running his free hand over her waist and across her hip. "You won't just sustain me. You'll also carry my children." He kissed her cheek, a hum in his throat as he felt her body. "Now, where do you want to go with me?"

Rachel's face slammed against the wall, and she automatically pressed her palms against it to keep her balance. She panted, her pulse skyrocketing in shock as she turned, seeing Sam chasing after another man.

"Rachel!" Dean shouted, skidding to a stop in front of her. "You okay?"

She nodded, but she was entirely confused, and it showed on her face. Dean bolted in the direction Sam went, and she tried to steady her breathing, but the panic of not knowing what had happened freaked her out.

A few moments later, Sam and Dean both came back in, rushing to her. Sam's hands went everywhere over her, frantic as he looked for injuries. "Are you hurt?" he asked, checking every visible inch of her. "Rachel," he urged, still searching, "are you hurt?"

"Sam, stop!" Rachel shouted, making him pause. He straightened, his own breath choppy as he looked down at her. Her heart slammed in her chest, a sheen of sweat breaking out over her. "What the hell is going on?" she demanded.

Both of the brothers looked down at her, their own confusion evident on their faces. "You don't remember?" Sam asked. She shook her head. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Rachel wet her lips. "I was drying my hands, and I came out of the bathroom, and I was walking back when I got thrown into the wall."

Sam and Dean exchanged glances, their focus then returning to Rachel. "So you don't remember some random guy feeling you up just a minute ago?" Dean asked.

Rachel's eyes widened. "What?!" She looked to Sam. "No!"

Sam took her by her shoulders. "Are you sure you don't remember a guy touching you?"

"No, I swear," she shuddered. "Sam, what the hell is going on?"

"Arioch," Sam replied, venom on his mouth as he pulled away from Rachel, looking to Dean. "When he touches them, they don't even know it happens."

Dean pressed his lips together. "Shit. I gotta go to the bunker and get the angel blade," he said, running a hand over his face.

"We should take her there, too," Sam suggested. "We can get the blade and sword, and read up on the lure."

Dean nodded. "Alright. We'll stop by the motel and check out before we go."

Sam quickly draped his coat over Rachel as he guided her back to the Impala.

"Sam," Rachel whispered, "please tell me what just happened."

"Arioch was occupying a vessel to try to get you in a long-enough stuper to take you," he replied, his hand tightening around her waist.

"I don't remember a single thing about it." It made chills run through her body.

Sam guided her into the backseat of the Impala, climbing in with her. "You can put our bags on the front seat," he said to Dean, who gave him a nod.

As Dean pulled out of the lot, Sam turned to Rachel, possessively drawing her close to himself. "Rest," he urged quietly, his hand moving over her arm. "We've got a three-hour drive."


	10. Chapter 10

**Lebanon, Kansas**

Rachel didn't remember Sam waking her, getting out of the Impala, walking into the bunker, or how she even got into a bed. Still, when she woke up in the middle of the night from being cold, she realized somehow she had made it-more than likely because of Sam's help. She was in pajamas-a tank top and a pair of lounge pants-and not entirely sure how it happened, but she knew Sam and Dean were gentlemen, so she assumed she dressed herself.

The room was mostly empty. It clearly had never been used, since it lacked any kind of personal touch. She put on her glasses she recovered from the nightstand next to the bed and hugged herself as she shuffled to the thermostat on the wall, angrily pressing buttons, ineffective at making it change the temperature. Frustrated, she opened the door, peering down the hall to see if there were extra blankets she could use.

She reached the closet at the end of the hall, noticing a soft glow of light coming from the room next to it. Trying to be as quiet as possible, she opened the door and withdrew another blanket, clicking it gently shut. She turned, walking just past the doorway when she heard him call her name.

"Rachel," Sam murmured, a sleepy look on his face as he stood in his doorway with only a pair of sweatpants on. "What's wrong?"

"Just cold," Rachel replied, showing him the blanket. "Thermostat isn't working. Why are you up?"

"Heard you," he admitted, quickingly adding, "but it's okay, really," when he saw her embarrassed face. "I'll come with you to see if I can get it going."

He came alongside her, and they went back to the guest room, Sam pausing at the thermostat as he messed with it. Rachel was unable to help staring at his shirtless broad back and bedhead hair as she watched him from behind. With a deep sigh, Sam turned to her. "Yeah, I don't know what's going on with it." He looked really tired, his hand running through his hair. "Want to camp out in my room until I can get it fixed in the morning? You can take the bed."

"No," she replied, shaking her head. "I'm not going to make you sleep in a chair in your own room."

"It's fine," he insisted, taking her hand. "Come on." Sam's mannerisms were nearly boyish, his exhaustion creating an innocence about him as he led Rachel into his room and shut the door. It was significantly warmer and homier than the guest room. He gestured to the bed, still holding her hand. "Get in," he said with a small smile. "I'll add the extra blanket on you."

As he moved away, she pulled him back to herself. "Lay with me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She had stayed within his arms for several hours before coming to the bunker, and it was the most peace she ever felt in her life.

The question seemed to wake him up a bit, his eyes rounding a little. "Rachel …"

"We're adults," she reasoning, shrugging one shoulder. "We can share a bed without complications, right?"

Sam nodded slowly. "Sure."

Rachel set her glasses down and climbed into the side of the bed she could tell was unused, Sam settling in behind her after he shut off his light. He had originally intended to keep his distance, but immediately gave into temptation. He drew her greedily to himself and spooned her, adjusting the blankets over them both. His nose nestled into her hair just above her shoulder, inhaling lavender and vanilla. "Thank you," he heard her murmur, seemingly comfortable with his decision.

"You don't have to thank me," he reminded, his body nearly on fire from the contact with hers.

Neither could fall asleep, each too nervous to let their guard down despite their individual boldnesses. "What's your favorite color?" Rachel murmured, her fingers gently tracing the skin of Sam's arm.

"My favorite color?" he repeated, slightly confused.

"Yeah. I mean, I figure if we're sleeping in bed together, then we should try to get to know each other, right?"

He smirked. "Makes sense. Probably blue. Yours?"

"Green."

"Favorite food?"

"Um … probably spaghetti and meatballs. Yours?"

"I actually really like salad."

Rachel couldn't help her surprised tone. "Really?"

"Really," he said with a smile. "Favorite movie?"

" _Princess Bride._ "

"Great choice. Mine's probably _The Shawshank Redemption_."

She paused for a moment, considering her next question. "Favorite book?"

"Does Shakespeare count?"

"Sure," she shrugged. "I think mine would be _Brave New World_."

Sam ran his fingers through her hair; they both were far more relaxed than they had been before. Rachel closed her eyes against his touch as he tucked her hair behind her ear. "What did you want to be when you were a kid?" he asked quietly.

Rachel recalled flashes of her childhood in her mind's eye. "Loved," she whispered, knowing it wasn't the intended type of answer. It's all she could think of, though.

Her answered pained him. "I wanted to be normal," Sam said, gently gliding his fingers over her. "I still do, sometimes. I want to pretend what's out there doesn't exist, and just live a normal life."

"Why can't you live a normal life and hunt?" Rachel asked.

He swallowed. "It's too dangerous. It never ends well."

She wanted to see his eyes, but she was afraid to move. "Maybe it won't, though," she whispered. "Maybe it would be different now."

Sam stroked her in silence, his chest tightening as he considered a response. "Maybe," he said, settling for the safe choice.

Under his rhythmic touch, Rachel fell back to sleep. Sam listened to her gentle breaths, his fingers moving in tiny lines across her stomach. Feeling her soft body against his was incredible. It filled a void he knew he had, but didn't realize the expanse of. He couldn't seem to get close enough or hold her tightly enough; he wouldn't be able to go back to sleeping without her so long as she was around. He felt whole, as if he finally had a purpose outside of hunting. He knew she felt safe with him, and he never wanted her to be afraid again.

* * *

Sam woke several hours later, Rachel turned inward and her head on his chest, her hand on his stomach as he held her. It was surreal-he was almost certain it had been a dream. Still, there she was, curled up in his embrace, peacefully sleeping. Her skin was silk against his, soft and supple as he stroked her. He couldn't help but laugh a little as he saw how her dark hair had spread over part of his face. Gently, he combed it away, sliding the strands through his fingers. It mesmerized him-he played with her hair, listening to her breathing as he watched her locks dance.

She stirred, and he stilled, waiting to see if she woke. "Sam?" she murmured, still pressed against him.

"Yeah?" he asked, unable to stop playing with her hair.

"Thank you."

He laughed. "Stop thanking me."

"Okay." She kept her head against his chest, listening to the beats of his heart as her fingers absentmindedly found the grooves in his abdomen. "What time is it?"

"Just before eleven, I think."

Her eyes widened. "Oh shit, I'm sorry," she said. She pushed up a little, finding Sam's face a lot closer than she realized.

"And stop apologizing," he whispered with a smile.

Rachel searched his eyes. He looked well-slept, as if he, too, needed the help resting. He also was looking at her in a way that made her insides tingle-for lack of better analogy, like a hunter observing a particular prey he was after. He was so warm, so close. The way he wet his lips sent her stomach into flips. If she was brave, she could reach over with little to no effort and kiss them.

Her heart nearly stopped as he combed away her hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "Hungry?" he asked. She was afraid to answer, for fear she might say something incredibly dumb like, "Yes, for you," so she nodded. Slowly, he sat up, balancing her as they separated.

She couldn't help but stare at the tattoo on his chest. "What is that a symbol of?" she asked quietly.

He followed her gaze, realizing what she was referring to. "It's a warding," he explained. "A way to ensure I'm not able to be used as a demon vessel."

 _Vessel. Warding._ The two words hit her mind like a freight train. Rachel pressed her palm to her forehead, a painful slice of a memory seeping through from the night before. She heard Sam's voice somewhere in the distance, but she was focused on the events from the night before.

"Rachel!" Sam urged, snapping her back to the present. He was holding her arm in one hand, his other cupping her cheek. "What's wrong?"

"I remember something he said," she replied, staring at the blankets over Sam's lap, still feeling Arioch's thick, hazy touch. "He said that the vessel he wanted was warded."

Sam's thumb moved over her cheek. "Do you remember anything else?"

"Just that he asked me where I wanted to go because ..." She stopped, the memory sickening her. "Because he wants me to have his children." Rachel looked up into his eyes.

His jaw flexed, his face drawn tight in anger as he processed what she said. "You're safe here," he said softly, stroking her face.

"But we need to go back to Lincoln," Rachel argued. "Hailey is out there."

"And we will," Sam agreed. "For now, until we have a solid plan, we need to utilize the bunker."

Rachel stood up, putting her glasses on as Sam stood up on the opposite side of the bed. She watched as he stretched, running a hand through his hair. As he caught her looking, she ducked her eyes. "I'm going to change," she murmured, slipping quickly out of his room.

She was grateful the hall was empty so Dean didn't see her coming out of Sam's room and get the wrong idea. Her room was still cold, so she changed quickly, tugging on jeans and a blue knit top, tying her sneakers and running a brush through her hair. She tucked her gun into the back of her jeans, despite Sam's assurance about the bunker. With all that happened, she needed the comfort.

Rachel wandered down the hall, expecting to see Dean in the kitchen. Still, it was empty, except for a note on the counter:

 _If you two see this note here, that means I'm not here.  
I went for burgers and beer. Just have clothes on when I get back, k?_

She laughed, putting the note back on the counter. If Dean was one thing, it certainly wasn't shy.

"Who are you?" a man asked behind her.

Rachel drew her gun, whirling around and taking aim at the strange, dark-haired man in a trench coat. "Don't move," she warned.

The man looked perplexed, but not the least bit scared. "How did you get in here?" he asked.

"How did _you_ get in here?"

"I just came in."

"I didn't see you come in," she growled, cocking the gun.

The man nodded to the gun. "That won't help you."

"It won't help you either."

"Rachel!" Sam shouted, coming down the hallway and approaching her. "Rachel, it's okay," he assured, taking her arm. "This is Castiel. He's a friend."

"How the hell did he get in here?" she demanded.

"Not hell," Castiel corrected.

"He's an angel," Sam explained. Rachel's eyes rounded. She lifted her gun a little higher. "No, no, no," he said quickly, "a good one."

"Dean said angels were dicks and assholes," Rachel recalled, her brow knitted tight.

Castiel's brow raised, then he shrugged with a nod. "That does sound like Dean."

Sam gently lowered Rachel's arm, taking the gun from her and setting it on the counter. "Castiel, meet Rachel Lentz. Hunter."

"I thought you said nothing gets in here," she said with a glare.

"Nothing uninvited," Sam explained. "It's okay."

"So, Arioch can't get in?"

"Arioch?" Castiel asked, stepping toward Rachel. His eyes narrowed. "Arioch is a Watcher," he murmured.

"We know," Rachel said. "We're tracking him."

"Watchers only have two motivations: souls and procreation."

"Who's procreating?" Dean asked with a grin, barging into the bunker with a giant brown bag and a case of beer, kicking the door shut.

"Apparently Arioch," Sam replied as Dean came down the stairs. His hands tensed by his sides. "Why would he want to create more nephilim?"

"Control," Castiel said. "Nephilims made from Watchers are very powerful. If Arioch can't have dominion in heaven, he can on earth."

Dean set down the bag and the beer on the table, looking to Sam. "So, not only is he sucking their souls, he's knocking them up?"

"Knocking who up?" Castiel asked, stumbling a little over the slang.

"There are a series of missing women in Lincoln, Nebraska," Sam explained. "Rachel's cousin might be included in them."

Castiel's brow furrowed. "If he's taken people, they aren't likely alive anymore. When Watchers feed, it drains a soul, and the vessel cannot recover." Sam winced, shaking his head at Castiel, urging him to shut up through a silent glare.

"We know," Dean said, "but-"

Rachel's stomach dropped from Castiel's matter-of-fact tone and Dean's admission. She backed away from the three men, her bottom lip quivering. "'You _know_?'" she interrupted, her voice raising. All three looked to her, their expressions somber. "What the hell do you mean, 'you know?'"

Sam swallowed, lifting his hands as he took a step toward her. "Rachel-"

"Is it true?" she demanded, glaring at him. "Is it?" After a moment's pause, her face tightened when Sam shut his eyes and hung his head. "You son of a bitch."

Sam moved in front of her and took her hands. "Rachel, we're going to find Hailey," he assured.

Rachel yanked away from his. "You didn't say anything about this. Neither of you." She glared at Dean, then back to Sam. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"We didn't want you to lose hope."

"You don't get to decide what I should know and shouldn't know," she growled.

Sam moved closer, gently taking her hands again. "I know," he said, keeping a firm grip on her. "And I'm sorry. I didn't have the right to keep that from you."

Despite her anger, Sam's touch was her only lifeline in that moment. "So she's dead?" she asked stiffly, looking between him and the others.

"Not necessarily," Sam replied. "If he hasn't fed, she's fine. Besides, we can see if—"

"But if he has, then she isn't alive."

Sam didn't reply. Rachel wasn't sure if she wanted to punch him, or for him to hold her and make her feel safe. She drew in a breath, shutting her eyes. "Where are your books on angel lure?" she asked when she opened them.

"Over here," he said gently, leading her out of sight to the library.

When they were alone, she stopped him, looking into his eyes. "Is she dead, Sam?" she whispered, clutching his hand. "Just tell me the truth."

Sam was quiet as he looked down at her. He combed her hair away from her face. "I don't know," he replied gently. "But I'm going to do whatever it takes to find her." Her eyes welled with tears, and she pressed herself to him. He wrapped his arms around her, his hands soothing her as he held her to himself. "I will, Rachel," he promised. "I'll do everything I can."

When Rachel pulled away, Sam stopped her, cupping either side of her face and wiping her tears with his thumbs. He gently bent down, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. Her stomach knotted as his lips brushed her skin. His touch was incredibly soothing, but his kiss was ten times moreso, and she had to stop herself from whimpering in disappointment as he straightened.

"Sam, Rachel," Dean called from the kitchen. "Get in here."

Sam held her face for a few beats, already more than tempted to kiss her lips before Dean yelled. Reluctantly, he let go, taking Rachel's hand and going back to the kitchen.

When they approached, Dean stood. "They just called with the autopsy findings on the body," he said quietly. "They positively I.D.'ed her as Sarah Cartwright. They're listing cause of death as cardiac arrest."

"Which is typical of drained vessels," Castiel added softly.

"They also said the body was green due to an anti-fungal chemical her body was covered in."

"What kind of anti-fungal chemical?" Sam asked, still holding Rachel's hand.

"Commercial grade for plants," Dean replied. "The green dye is specific to a brand called Gilcrest Mills."

"A sweet smell," Rachel murmured. "So, he's keeping them in a nursery?"

Sam let go of her hand, snagging his laptop from the library and returning to the kitchen table. He furiously searched online, Rachel coming to stand behind him. "There are six nurseries in a thirty mile radius," he said, still focused on his search. "If we can figure out which uses the anti-fungal, we can narrow that down." He pulled up the company's information, jotting it down on a piece of paper Dean gave him. Sam slid Dean the number, and Dean punched it into his phone, pacing away from the others as he called.

Sam kept digging, reading what he could on the company. "The anti-fungal is used in maintaining plants during overly wet conditions."

"He would preserve the bodies as he fed," Rachel concluded grimly, sinking into a chair next to him.

Castiel approached Sam. "You do know killing Arioch won't be easy," he warned. "Even with an angel blade or sword, if his power is too great, he will have a definite advantage."

Sam nodded. "I know. But we've got to do whatever we can."

Dean hung up his phone, coming back to the others. "Alright, we've got it down to four nurseries," he reported. He snagged the burgers from the bag, tossing them to each person. "Eat up. Then we'll hit the road."


	11. Chapter 11

Before Sam could volunteer himself for the back seat, Castiel climbed in on Dean's side out of habit. Rachel slid in next to him, giving Sam a small glance before keeping her focus on the side window.

It was a three hour drive back to Lincoln, which gave her more than enough time to think—too much time. Hailey was so young. She didn't deserve a death like this. If Sam and Dean were right, then there would be little to no hope for her to survive after Arioch fed on her. Could Castiel heal her? She wasn't sure—even he, an apparently powerful angel, seemed intimidated by Arioch.

The first two nurseries were dead ends. It was dark by the time they reached the third. The four climbed out of the Impala, Sam and Dean shining their bright Maglite flashlights, and Rachel her smaller one, through the thick darkness as they walked toward the rows of greenhouses.

Something about the nursery made Rachel uneasy, which she assumed was a good thing in their case. Sam insisted she stay close by him, but when she spotted the large storage facility, her heart stopped. She knew Hailey was in there. She naturally sped up, Sam yanking her back. "Easy," he said softly. "Stay with us." She hated the way Sam kept her on a leash, but she forced him and the others to go faster, clutching her gun as they approached.

Dean halted her, taking the lead as he peered into the dark building. When he saw it was clear, he gave Sam a nod, and the two slipped inside, Rachel following, Castiel behind her. Sam kept her behind himself, following Dean's charge as they shone their lights through the empty space.

It was damp and wet inside, just like Daniel Thurman described. Moonlight filtered through the opened windows and slatted sides, casting a glow over the interior of the building. In the distance, Rachel spotted large poles and bolted forward, remembering Daniel's descriptions. She heard Sam's strained voice as he tried to call her back, but she didn't care.

Rounding the corner with her small flashlight and gun, she saw three shadowy shapes against the poles, her stomach lurching as she smelled decaying flesh. She aimed her light, gagging as she saw the condition of the first two bodies. Racing to the third, she gasped, falling to her knees and dropping her gun and light, lifting Hailey's drooped head. "Hailey," she shuddered. Her eyes were closed, her skin both pale and purple. Rachel checked her pulse, feeling a faint beat just as Sam gripped her arm and moved her away from the body.

"Dammit, Rachel!" Dean growled. He was furious. "What the hell were you thinking? You could've gotten yourself killed!" He was glaring down at her like a big brother would a younger sister, his concern more than evident.

"She's alive," Rachel breathed, fighting against Sam's hold. "Let me go! She's alive!"

Rachel watched as Dean checked the other two bodies for a pulse, somber as he stood and walked with Castiel to Hailey. He looked to Castiel, who laid his hand on Hailey, his eyes closing as he focused on attempting to heal her. After a few long moments, Castiel lifted his hand, looking to Dean with a small shake of the head. "But she's alive," Rachel argued, fighting Sam's powerful arms. "She's alive! She'll be fine!"

"He's fed on her soul, Rachel," Castiel said solemnly. "She is too far gone."

She heard him, but she refused to accept it. "She's breathing! We need to call an ambulance!"

"Rachel," Castiel said gently, approaching her as she struggled against Sam, "she cannot recover from this. She is almost a shell, like the others. There is very little of her soul left."

Rachel stopped fighting, Castiel's words sinking in. "No," she argued. "She's … She's still …" She shuddered, Sam drawing her small body into his arms as she tried to escape.

"The best thing we can do for her is to give her peace, so Arioch can no longer harm her," Castiel said, distressed as he saw Rachel's eyes widen in realization. She knew what he meant. They were going to kill her.

"No!" she screamed. "You can't!" She thrashed against Sam, who took her punches as she tried to escape him.

"Rachel," Dean said, swallowing as he approached her. "I know … I know how this sounds. But all we want is to give her peace."

"By killing her?!" Rachel nearly screamed. "She's alive!"

"Sweetheart," Sam whispered above her, keeping her to himself, "she will never recover. She may be alive, but she's hanging by a thread."

Rachel covered her mouth, gagging against the reality. Tears slipped down her cheeks, her stomach sick as she looked from Dean to Castiel, who both looked back at her with pained expressions. She couldn't let Arioch take the last of Hailey, but what they were proposing went against everything inside of her. "I can't," she shuddered, clinging to Sam's arm as he held her.

Dean nodded, approaching her. "I know," he whispered. "You won't. … I will."

"Please, Dean," she begged. "Please don't do this."

"You don't want her to suffer," he argued gently, his own brow drawn tight as he wrestled his own emotions down.

Her face soaked with tears, she trembled, looking into Dean's eyes. "Dean," she shuddered, "she's all I have."

Dean's jaw flexed as he swallowed. "I know, sweetheart," he whispered. He reached out and gently stroked her cheek, his own breath shaky as he wiped her tears away. "But you can't let him win. We need to give her peace."

Rachel's heart stopped. She saw the rawness in Dean's eyes, the disgusting truth he barely wanted to admit-he was willing to do the unthinkable for not only Hailey's sake, but hers, so she wouldn't have to have that on her conscious. She gave Dean the smallest of nods, and Sam let her go, aching as he watched her stoop down to Hailey's body, embracing her. He shut his eyes as he heard her cry, his own tears threatening to escape.

"Sammy," Dean whispered, his voice raw, "we've got to go. If we're burning the body, we need to move."

Sam ran his hand over his face, hating himself as he approached Rachel. "Sam," she begged him, "please. Please don't." His heart twisted, and he gently took her arm, pulling her to stand as she fought him. "No!" she screamed. He held her, letting her pound against his arms and chest as he took her away from Hailey. Deep down, he knew Rachel had resolved herself to what Dean would do, but she also couldn't help her instinct to want to protect her.

Castiel took up Rachel's flashlight and gun, moving away near Sam as Dean moved toward Hailey. "No!" Rachel screamed. "Dean, no!"

"We need to, baby girl," Sam urged, pressing her close.

Rachel quivered against him, clinging to his shirt. She cried out as Dean raised his gun, his hesitation clear. Sam turned her inward to his chest, pressing her head against himself and shielding her eyes as she sobbed and struggled to look. "No, don't," Sam whispered, keeping her tight to himself. "You don't want to."

"Sam," Rachel whispered through her tears.

"I'm here," he reminded her, drawing her as tight as he could to himself to block her view, covering her ears as he watched Dean cock his gun. He braced against Rachel's fight to see what was happening, kissing the top of her head. "No, sweetheart," he whispered into her ear, denying her the view she thought she wanted. "Just focus on me. I'm right here. I'm not leaving. You're not alone." Sam kept Rachel's blood-curdling scream muffled into his chest as Dean pulled the trigger, firing a round. "Shhh," he shuddered, pressing kisses on her head. "It's over. She's free, baby girl."

* * *

Nearly two hours later, Rachel was sitting in the passenger seat of her own car, Sam driving it back to Lebanon for her. Dean and Castiel were in the Impala ahead of them, the road seemingly empty besides them.

Sam had decided the safest thing to do was to get Rachel back to the bunker. They knew once they cut off the last of Arioch's supply, he would double down on hunting her. At the bunker with Castiel, she was safe, and they could go back and pursue Arioch.

Rachel, of course, wasn't a fan of Sam's plan in the slightest. She didn't want to be safe. She wanted to kill the son of a bitch who took Hailey from her. Sam would not be moved, though—even Dean agreed that his plan was for the best. She was outnumbered, and far too emotionally drained to fight after a while.

She spent the first third of the ride thinking about what Sam had said to her as Dean did the unthinkable. He called her "baby" and "baby girl," and he told her she wasn't alone, that he would be there. Would he? Or was he desperately trying to soothe a crazed woman? His kisses and pet names said otherwise, but she couldn't help the cynical feeling that overcame her. Hailey was the last of her bloodline that would even speak to her. Besides her car and her few clothes, she had nothing. Did Sam truly mean what he said—did she have him?

Rachel stole a glance at Sam, whose knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel. Her car was pretty junky, so it couldn't really keep up with the Impala, which was evident by how Dean and Castiel had disappeared into the darkness except for two small red tail lights in the distance. Sam's eyes were bloodshot, as she imagined hers were too. He had given her his jacket, which she tugged tighter around herself as she watched him.

A bright white glow stole her focus, and she looked out at the car approaching in the opposite lane. It was going pretty fast, but then again, it was late at night on a country road, so it was probably pretty average. She narrowed her eyes, swearing she saw the headlights drift a little closer to their lane with the passing seconds.

"Sam," she whispered, "that car. It looks like it's coming into our lane."

Sam immediately tightened his hold on the wheel, shifting the car away from the oncoming vehicle. Still, it drifted until it was aiming right for them. "Hold on!" Sam shouted, cutting the wheel sharply to the left around the car just before impact, managing to keep it under control.

As they passed by the car, which was stopped in the distance, Rachel looked out the back window, seeing it turn around. "Sam! It's following us!"

"Shit!" Sam growled, trying to look for a viable path to escape to. Rachel's heart slammed in her chest as the headlights behind them got brighter with each second.

Before he could swerve to avoid the hit, the car behind them rammed into their rear bumper, jolting them forward as Sam wrestled for control. Another hit sent Rachel's lightweight car sliding to the left; Sam was unable to control it, and Rachel screamed as they flew into a ditch on the opposite side of the road.


	12. Chapter 12

_**(This chapter contains M rated content.)**_

* * *

Rachel slowly stirred, her eyes heavy as she opened them, finding herself in the smashed up car with Sam next to her. He was unconscious. "Sam," she hoarsely whispered, her head throbbing and her body aching. She fumbled against her seat belt, pressing her fingers to Sam's neck. He was fine, but she had no idea how long he would be knocked out for. She clumsily pawed in her jean pocket, taking out her cell phone and slowly dialing Dean's number.

"Where are you guys?" Dean asked when he picked up.

"Dean," Rachel managed, her voice strained, "we need help. Sam is knocked out."

"What the hell happened?"

"Accident. We were run off the road. Mile marker 26." Rachel groaned as she tried to move her leg. "I think I broke my leg."

Dean whirled the Impala around in an erratic U turn. "Shit. Hang in there. Stay on the phone with me."

As she was about to say okay, her door swung open, and she flew out of the car in mid air. Her scream filled Dean's ear, even with the distance. "Son of a bitch!" Dean shouted, slamming on the excelerator. "Cas, I need you to take the angel blade and get to Sam and Rachel now! Arioch is there!"

"Where are they?" Castiel asked.

"Mile marker 26."

Castiel disappeared with the blade, leaving Dean fuming as he tore down the road. He could hear Rachel screaming in the distance over the phone; he tossed his on the passenger's seat, flying down the highway after them.

At the scene of the accident, Rachel was trying to break out of Arioch's touch. He was using the same vessel as before. But whenever he touched her, she slowed and became weakened. She tried to fight it when her mind told her she should, but she wasn't able to. Arioch's power was far too great.

Hearing a snarl to her left, Rachel was knocked free of Arioch's grip, her conscious rapidly coming back to her. She saw Sam wrestling Arioch, which was nearly pointless as Arioch threw him down like a rag doll. Before she could aid him, she was dragged to Arioch by an invisible hand, then abruptly thrown to the ground. She looked up from the blacktop and saw Castiel wrestling against Arioch with unseen force, each cancelling out the other. Castiel grimaced as he pressed forward, nearing Arioch with the angel blade in hand.

As Castiel went to stab the vessel, Arioch exorcised himself, a blinding flash of white bursting into the air and disappearing. The vessel he used dropped to the ground, and Castiel checked the pulse, his face grim as he stood.

Sam bent down to Rachel and took her hand, pulling her to her feet. "Ow!" she cried out as she tried to put weight on her leg.

"Shit," Sam murmured, supporting her. "Cas!" Castiel came over, seeing Rachel favoring her leg. He pressed his fingers to her forehead and instantly the pain disappeared.

Rachel straightened in Sam's arms, still holding him for balance as she looked at her totaled car. Words wouldn't come, only tears as Dean slammed to a stop in the Impala in front of them. Sam stroked her hair, looking up at Dean as he approached. The two brothers shared a moment of silent communication and a confirming nod, an agreement that was easy to come to: If she wanted to, Rachel would live at the bunker for as long as she needed.

"Arioch?" Dean asked Castiel.

"Exorcised himself," Castiel grumbled.

"The vessel?"

"Gone."

Dean looked around at the mess they were going to leave behind—a body on the blacktop, a crushed car in a ditch, glass everywhere. "Let's get her home," he said quietly, heading back to the Impala. Sam guided Rachel forward, unwilling to let go of her as he climbed into the backseat with her, his arms surrounding her as she silently surrendered to him.

* * *

Less than two hours later, they were back at the bunker. Dean went straight for the fridge to withdraw a beer, offering one to Sam, who shook his head. "I'm going to get her settled," he said softly, Dean nodding in response.

Sam guided Rachel down the hall toward the bedrooms, passing the guest room and taking her straight to his room. "Wait here," he urged gently. "I'll go get your things."

Rachel's brows knit together. Even though she thought she knew what he meant, she needed confirmation. "You want me in here?"

Sam paused. "Only if you want to be."

She nodded, and he kissed her forehead, slipping out of the room and down the hall. Rachel sat on Sam's unmade bed, her head heavy and throbbing as she shrugged off his jacket. She wasn't entirely sure if she had processed what happened only hours ago, but for now, she felt a semblance of peace filtering in.

Sam returned, carrying her filled duffel and phone charger in, shutting the door behind himself. He plugged in the charger and Rachel connected her phone, resting it on the unused nightstand next to the bed. She rifled through her bag, producing a clean pair of pajamas and underwear, pausing as she looked at Sam. "I'm going to go shower," she murmured, quietly slipping out of the room and into the bathroom across from them.

When he heard the water run, Sam sighed deeply and sat on the mattress, running a hand through his hair. The entire day had taken nearly everything from all of them; he felt it deep in his bones as he tried to stretch the kinks out. Unable to rid himself of the tension, he stood and stripped down to his boxers, pulling on a pair of lounge pants over them and flopping back onto the bed, his arms folded behind his head. He shut his eyes, listening to the muffled sounds of the shower until it turned off, a short while later hearing her gentle footsteps toward his room.

Opening his eyes, he silently observed her. She was wearing a tiny pair of blue cotton shorts and a white tank top, her dark hair damp and fragrant from her shampoo, her glasses perched near the edge of her nose. He withdrew his hands and sat up, drawing back the blankets as she moved to the empty side of the bed, sitting her glasses on the nightstand. She climbed in, and he covered her, switching off the light and nestling against her back, his arms surrounding her. They were sore from her beating on them, but he didn't care. He pressed her as close as he could get her, placing a couple tentative kisses on her neck under her wet hair. A small moan caught in her throat, and he deepened the contact of his mouth to her skin. He forced himself to stay calm, his lips hungry and desperate to taste more, to explore her entire body and lose himself in her. Still, he kept his control, his focus remaining on her comfort.

Rachel turned in Sam's embrace. She could only see part of his face in the gentle glow of the nightlight across the room. Warmth bloomed in her as she stroked his cheek, reaching her mouth to his. She whimpered softly as her lips met his, his swallowed growl only making the heat within spread. He kissed her as if it were all that was keeping him alive, knowing his touch was all that was holding her together.

Sam sank his fingers into Rachel's wet hair, tugging gently on the roots as he lifted her mouth up to his own, claiming it with quiet power and control that healed her ache, his tongue exploring with abandon. A moan caught in her throat as he placed kisses along her cheek, jaw, and down the column of her neck, leaving trails of wet heat behind.

He stopped abruptly, squeezing his eyes shut as he pulled away, panting as he caught his breath. She watched his pained expression, confused. "Sam?" she whispered, desperate to feel his mouth and touch.

"I can't, sweetheart," he whispered back. "You're too vulnerable right now." His fingertips slid through her wet hair as he held her head, his heart failing to slow as he felt her.

"Sam," she urged, taking his bare arm and pulling herself closer, "I want you to."

He shook his head. Ever the gentleman, he fought his desire to respect her emotional state. Still, she wasn't satisfied. She pushed his back onto the mattress, straddling him as she ran her fingers through his hair. "You're not taking advantage," she assured gently, shivering as she felt his member pressed against her thigh. "I promise. I need you, Sam. I need to feel whole. Please."

Sam groaned as she lowered her weight onto him, his stiffness trapped between their stomachs. He devoured her mouth, a primal need taking over as he parted her lips with his tongue, staking his claim over her with a rumble in his chest. It had been so long since he had cared for someone that he was unable to slow his pace or lighten his touch. Everything about him conveyed urgency, dominance, shelter, protection. He wouldn't leave her to question if she was safe or wanted.

He flipped her over, pressing her into the mattress with ownership. "Then you're mine," he countered above her, both tender and demanding. "And I am yours. I don't want something temporary or meaningless."

She looked up at him through glassy eyes. He was serious. "I don't either," she agreed.

"Good." He paused, a soft laugh escaping his nose. "Because it would be hard as hell to have you in arm's reach every day and to not be able to do anything about it."

Her eyes widened. "So … I can stay here?"

His brow wrinkled as he smiled and nodded. "Yes. Of course. You never have to leave, if you don't want to. Because you belong here now."

She shut her eyes as he wiped her tear away. His husky words and gentle, supple lips over her cheek and jaw made her core ache, the promise of both physical connection, and of family, filling her with warmth and peace. "Sam," she shuddered, arching up to him, "please."

"Are you sure?" he asked in a breathy whisper in her ear.

"I'm about to get my gun if you don't do something—anything—to me right now."

With a devilish smirk, his mouth ravaged hers, one hand balancing as the other hungrily slid up the hem of her tank top. She shivered as his calloused fingers ran across the soft skin of her stomach, moaning in response as they skimmed up just under her bare chest. His mouth moved over her, suckling her neck as he closed his hand around her breast, massaging it with a grunt as she arched into his touch. Her nails dug into his skin, clinging to him as he caressed, eliciting a beautiful whimper from her.

He stripped her tank top off, pausing as he took her in. "God damn, you're beautiful," he whispered, his mouth immediately latching onto her breast as he straddled her, giving them the friction they both sought. Her hands sank into his hair, gasping as he switched sides, enthusiastically exploring her breasts. His hand fluttered down her ribcage to her hips, his curious fingers gliding across the warm flesh under the waistband of her shorts. Sam trailed his mouth down her stomach and over her ribs, gripping her as he sampled every inch of her skin. Her core ached as neared the edge of her shorts, squeezing her eyes shut as he ripped them off of her with a passionate growl.

All of her barriers removed, Sam explored Rachel's lower stomach, his tongue teasing her navel, smiling into her skin as he felt her squirm. He took hold of her slender thighs, his long fingers running over them as he parted her, his lips pressing kisses along the tender flesh inside of each. He was somewhere between caring and carnal, encouraged by the whimpered sounds she made. With a lusty groan, he moved his fingers deep into her center, watching her as he pleasured her. "Shit," he breathed in response to the image; her eyes were closed, arms surrendered in abandon above her head, her hips arching to him as she gasped and quivered, his name a string of chants on her lips. Tearing himself from the sight, his lips joined his fingers, his tongue eagerly tasting her.

"Oh fuck, Sam," Rachel gasped, her hips bucking into his face.

"Fuck yes, baby girl," he growled as he parted to catch his breath, plunging back in and bringing her over the edge with a scream she muffled into her own hand, his own hips restless as he pleasured her through her shockwaves.

"Please Sam," she begged as she descended, her voice barely above a whisper as he withdrew, "I need you."

Yanking off the remainder of his clothes, he wrapped her into his arms, guiding his stiff member slowly into her. "Shit," she hissed; he froze.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, hovering over her.

"No, just … it's …" She swallowed, trying to wet her parched throat. "It's been a while," she managed.

He kissed her tenderly. "Do you want me to stop?"

"I will murder you if you do."

Focusing on taking his time, Sam breathed heavily as he inched into her, her tightness nearly immediately doing him in. She shivered as he stretched and filled her, sinking fully into her and stilling for a few moments before slowly moving his hips. His rhythm matched her moans; she buried her face into his shoulder, his strokes faster and harder with each thrust. He was controlled chaos, primal sounds rumbling in his throat as he made friction against her, building her pleasure back up.

"Mine," he whispered into her ear as he sent her over the edge a second time, barely clinging onto sanity as he remained in her through it, reveling in her shuddered gasps and soft screams. As quickly as he could, he withdrew and added the only layer he was willing to, sinking back into her with a grunt. He wasted no time, his broad body driving her small one deep into the mattress, need taking over reason as he crept to the edge. His finger flicked over her with fervor to bring her one last wave of quivering pleasure, his teeth and lips sinking into her shoulder as he released in her in tandem, her name among heady curses shuddering from his mouth as his hips rocked into hers.

He held her, balancing his weight above her as he remained inside of her after they descended, their bodies sheen with sweat, her inner thighs damp. He gently kissed her, his lips sealing a promise of belonging over hers. "You're home," he whispered against her mouth, a rasp to his voice. "You're mine, baby girl."


	13. Chapter 13

Rachel woke early the next morning tangled in Sam's thick arms, her bare flesh pressed onto his. Sweat slicked between them, her hair dried into frantic waves that spread over his body.

Sam was already awake, his hands running possessively over her as he nuzzled her hair. "You meant it?" she whispered, and he stopped, pulling her away to look into her eyes.

"Of course I did," he replied, combing her hair from her face.

"What if I'm not what you think I am?"

"I already know who you are."

"How?"

"Because I can see who you are." He kissed her forehead, whispering against it. "You're incredible. Smart. Beautiful. Sweet. Funny. Powerful. Caring. And fucking sexy as hell." She laughed, her face heating. "And you're mine," he reminded her. "You're mine to take care of and protect. All mine." Rachel clung to Sam, her tears dripping down his chest as she cried into him. "Shh," he urged, stroking her. "It's okay, baby girl."

A few moments later, she pulled away. "You call me baby girl," she said, her voice quivering.

"Do you not want me to?" he asked, threading his fingers through her hair.

"No, I do. I just … No one has ever called me anything but Rachel."

Sam examined her. She was so broken, but he swore he'd do whatever it took to fix her. "I want to kill everyone in your past." Rachel couldn't help but laugh, sniffing her tears back. "You've been taking care of yourself for far too long," Sam said gently. "It's my turn, now."

He pressed his mouth to hers, the heat shared between them rapidly stirring into a smoldering blur of lips and hands over skin. This time around, though, he was slower, gentler, attentive to her every response as he learned her favorites and sensitive places, committing them to memory. She soaked it in, letting him nurture her and care for her, her heart healing as he completed her.

It was a couple hours later that they both woke up, even sweatier than before. Sam's stomach growled, and Rachel heard hers echo it. "Hungry?" he asked, even though he knew the answer. She nodded and they stood, dressing and moving to the door. Sam stopped her, cupping her cheek as he looked down at her tenderly. "Are you okay?"

She swallowed. "I don't know."

"I'm right here," Sam assured. "You don't have to pretend with me, or with Dean."

"Thanks."

Sam combed her hair from her face, leaning in and capturing her lips in a slow, burning kiss before linking his hand into hers and leading her into the kitchen.

Dean turned to them from the oven as he took out a pizza. "There you are, Sammy," he said, sobering as he spotted Rachel. He set the tray down as she approached him, her hand finding his cheek.

"Dean," she whispered, biting back her tears, "what you did for me—"

"Rachel, you don't have to—"

"I do," she insisted, gently running her fingers over his face. "What you did, Dean, I'll never be able to properly thank you for. I know it wasn't easy. But you took the burden from me. And I can't tell you how much that means to me." She reached up and kissed his cheek, wrapping him in a hug.

"Of course, sweetheart," he said, seeing the change on Sam's face as he looked over Rachel's shoulders while embracing her. Dean smiled softly—Sam looked whole, completed. His brother was always a better man when he was in a relationship. He needed it. He was made for it. "But I never want to do it again to you," he added as he pulled away from her.

"You won't have to," she replied sadly. "It's just me now."

"For fuck sake, Sam," Dean growled, glaring at him. "Didn't you tell her?"

"Yes, I did," Sam shot back, clearly pissed at Dean.

"I didn't mean it like that," Rachel said quickly, holding her hand up to ease both of them. "I just meant that you two would be the only ones left, but you can't get possessed or whatever."

"Well, good. I was about to kick his ass."

With a slight glare to Dean, Sam drew Rachel back to himself, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Speaking off, you need a tattoo," he murmured, kissing her sensually. She blushed as she tried to paw away from him, but he kept her tightly to himself, kissing her cheek and jaw.

"Yeah, yeah, okay," Dean sighed, going back to the pizza. "That's great. Just don't make me sick, you two."

"Deal with it." Sam smirked.

Castiel blinked in, which made Rachel jump. "Shit," she sighed.

"You get used to it," Dean assured. He looked to Castiel. "Anything?"

"I couldn't find anything about Arioch circulating, and there isn't anything on angel radio," he relied, glancing over at Sam, who tightened his hold on Rachel. "The bunker is the safest place she can be right now."

Dean nodded. "Well, if you can stop swapping spit long enough, there's food here." He sat with a grin, tipping back a healthy amount of beer.

"Why would I swap spit with anyone?" Castiel asked him, brow furrowed.

"Not you," Dean corrected. "Them."

Castiel looked over at Sam, seeing his hand splayed over Rachel's hip. "Oh," he murmured with a nod. "I see. Sam is the pizza man."

Rachel shook her head. "Sorry, what?"

Sam laughed. "Nothing," he assured, kissing her cheek and guiding her to sit. Rachel took a slice of pizza, quickly sobering when she thought about the meal she shared with Sam while trying to find Hailey. She was really gone. Despite Sam's promise and presence, the overwhelming feeling of loneliness flooded her. He had said he cared for her, but would he grow tired of her? Was it novelty? Would she live up to his expectation? The questions assaulted her mind, leaving her with less appetite than before.

"Rachel," Sam whispered in her ear under the conversation between Dean and Castiel, "you okay?"

She shook her head. "I don't think I will be for a while."

His hand found her back, stroking it. "I'm right here," he reminded her. "I'm not going anywhere."

She looked over at him, attempting to hold back her tears. "Do you just feel sorry for me?" she asked. "Because I don't need charity, if that's what this is."

Sam's brow wrinkled; he took her hand and led her into the hall away from the others. "Rachel, 'this' isn't anything fake," he told her. "Period. It's not about sympathy, or charity." He kept hold of her hand, examining her eyes. "You need to believe that there can be someone who would want to be with you. You need to believe that about me." He drew her a little closer, a soft smile on his lips. "The minute I saw you, I couldn't take my eyes off of you. I wanted to know who you were—I wanted to know everything about you. And now the more I learn about you, the more it makes me want to be with you."

She pressed into him, his arms wrapping around her. "Okay," she whispered. He wasn't sure if she fully believed him, but he knew it wouldn't be an overnight fix. He would be patient. She was worth it.

Sam led her back to the table, Dean and Castiel quiet as they sat, Dean finishing off his second piece. "So," he said, chewing thoughtfully, "we know Arioch is out of juice, which means he will be on the prowl."

"So it's safe to assume he will be seeking more souls from the same type of victim," Castiel concluded.

"Right. But how do we track him before he does?"

"A spell, maybe?" Sam suggested.

"Do we have one?"

"I can look after we eat. There might be a tracking or revelation spell we can use."

"Or," Rachel said softly, "you can use me." The three men stared at her, Sam's eyes narrowed.

"Absolutely not," he argued.

"Sam, we know he wants me, so let's bypass the bullshit and throw him a bone. It's a lot easier than playing Tag with him."

Sam's jaw flexed; he was clearly pissed. "Fuck that."

"Easy, Sam," Dean murmured. "She does have a point."

Sam turned to Dean, his eyes wild. "Are you serious right now?"

Dean held his hand up. "Look, it was her suggestion, but she does make a good carrot. If we find a binding spell, maybe we can snag him when he tries to get to her."

"'Maybe?'" Sam snarled. "So you'd like to send her out to a grigori on a 'maybe?'"

"I'm capable of deciding for myself," Rachel reminded him, "so before you chew Dean's head off, remember that."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. "I understand. But I watched Arioch nearly take you last night while I was helpless to stop him. And I'm not willing to let that happen again."

"We need to draw him out," Rachel argued. "Otherwise, more women will suffer."

"No!" Sam shouted, his palm smacking the table as he stood, surprising the others. His nostrils flared as he ran a hand through his hair. "We will find another way."

Abandoning his food, Sam headed for the library, disappearing out of sight. Rachel sighed, her head hanging. "He can't do this," she said softly. "He has to think like a hunter, not like …"

"A guy who cares about you?" Dean asked, watching her rub her eyes. "That's Sam, sweetheart. The very few times he let himself care for someone, something happened to them. He won't risk it with you."

"Then how else are we going to draw out Arioch?" Rachel challenged. "Look, I get it. But time is of the essence. If it's not me, it's another woman, if there hasn't been one taken already."

"Let him search," Dean encouraged. "He does his best thinking when he's pissed." He sighed. "And I can't believe I'm saying this, but in the meantime, go easy on him. Take his brooding Mother Hen thing as a very big compliment."

Her eyes flicked toward the direction Sam disappeared to. She sighed, slumping back against her chair. "More women will die," she murmured, defeated.

"Rachel," Castiel interjected carefully, "if Arioch is interested in procreating with you, then you are safest here."

"Then I'd better help him research at least," she decided softly, standing and leaving for the library.

Dean pursed his lips as he sat back and watched her leave, exhaling deeply. "Cas, what would happen if … Arioch … you know …?"

"Impregnated her?" Castiel finished bluntly, his voice not exactly discreet.

Dean winced. "Yeah. I mean, are the offspring just as strong as him?"

"They hold many powers, yes. And their development is much like Jack's was—rapid."

"So he could make an army pretty quickly."

"At the rate of impregnating and gestation, if there were enough women to carry them, then yes."

Dean ran a hand over his face. "Would she survive the labor?" Castiel shook his head. "Ooh-kay," he murmured, standing and snagging his beer.

"Dean," Castiel said softly, gaining his attention. "Sam's judgment will be clouded because of his affection for Rachel. Arioch will easily play into that. He cannot be alone with him. We need to make sure he doesn't pursue this on his own for any reason."

Dean nodded, tipping back a swig of beer. "Don't worry, Cas. It won't be just Arioch trying to kick his ass if he goes rogue."

* * *

Sam was hunched over a stack of books, unaware as Rachel slipped into the library. His brow was creased tightly, his eyes focused as he read pages carefully. "Sam?" Rachel asked softly, seeing him look up at her. "Can we talk?" He nodded, putting a marker in the book before standing and turning to her. She drew in a deep breath. "I'm sorry I pushed you, but I also stand by what I said," she said, wringing her hands. "I want to make sure we catch the son of a bitch, and I know using me is the easiest way."

"Easier for who?" Sam countered, stepping close to her. "How is it easier for me to see you risk yourself?"

"It isn't. But that's not what hunting is about. I'm sure there have been plenty of times you put yourself on the line to make a kill or a catch."

"That's different."

"How? Because you're a man and I'm not?"

He sighed, running his hand over his face. "No, and I know you know better than that."

"Then how, Sam?" she asked.

"Because we aren't talking a wendigo or a vamp or something we know we can kill. We are talking about an angel with a lot of power." His breath quickened, his hands flexing by his sides. "Do you honestly think I would let you do this, knowing he wants to rape you? Do you think I'd risk him violating you so we could catch him?"

"Sam, you don't 'let' me do anything," Rachel reminded him with a cool glare.

"Rachel—"

"I'm a hunter, dammit. I can handle it."

"For fuck sake, Rachel," Sam growled, "stop trying to prove yourself to me. To us." He took her upper arms into his hands, sliding them up into her hair, drawing her close. "Stop trying to do things alone. Because you're not alone anymore."

"I know I'm not. But I can't sit around and protect myself while other women suffer. I can't do that."

"Then help me find a way here," he encouraged, still cradling her head. "A way that doesn't involve dangling you in front of Arioch like a piece of meat."

"Sam, no matter how badly you want to cage me, I chose this life," she reminded him. "And you chose to bring me here, knowing that. You can't lock me away from the world. It's not up to you."

He let her go and ran his hand through his hair, tugging at the roots. "I won't let you do it."

"It's _not_ up to you," she repeated, eyeing him.

He was clearly pissed. She saw the raw rage in him, his tall, broad frame nearly shaking with anger. He searched her eyes, jaw flexing as he clenched his teeth. After a few moments, he hung his head, rubbing his face with a rough swipe. His voice shook ever so slightly. "I can't … I can't do this, then."

Rachel felt her heart stop. "Do what?"

"I can't be with you," he said, his tone cooler than he meant it to be. "Not if you're set on doing this."

She looked into his eyes, her stomach bottoming out. "Dean said you lost ones you cared for, but in our work, there are no guarantees, and you know that."

"Hunter or not, it doesn't mean I would willing send you out to Arioch," Sam growled. "If that's what you want to do, Rachel, then you do it. But as the man who promised to protect you, I can't."

"So it's your way or no way, right?" she countered with a scoff.

"It's not about that."

"It's just about me being incapable, right?"

"No, dammit!" Sam shouted. "It's about me caring for you, alright?" He threw his hands up. "It's about me not wanting to see you do this, because I care about you very much. And yes, I'm aware it's only been days. But I do, and I _won't_ stand back and let you sacrifice yourself."

Rachel knew he cared for her, and she for him, but in that moment, she wanted to deck him in the face as much as she wanted to be wrapped in his arms, forgetting everything in the world. The silence hung between them. She tried to speak, but was unable to. "I care for you," Sam repeated, far gentler as he moved in closer and took her hands. "The idea of this alone kills me."

She blinked hard, shivering as he cupped her cheek. "I care about you too," she whispered. "But if you care about me, then you need to trust me."

"It's not you I don't trust. It's Arioch."

"You'll have my back," she encouraged; he shut his eyes. "So I will be fine."

"Turn the tables for a moment," he said, examining her. "Would you be fine with this?"

Rachel paused, considering his question. Though she didn't want to admit it, he was right. She wouldn't be. "It doesn't matter."

"It's all that matters," he argued. "If you couldn't watch me do this, how do you expect me to?"

Her tears slipped down her cheeks, leaving hot trails on her skin. "I just want to kill the son of a bitch. I want him dead."

"As do I," Sam assured, drawing her close. "But we can kill him without using you as bait."

"Can we?" she challenged.

"I won't stop until I find a way." Rachel's head pounded, the tension eating at her. Sam wrapped his arms around her, tenderly kissing the top of her head. "We will bring Hailey justice," he promised. "Just not like that."

She pulled away, shaking her head. "We won't. Not if we don't act now. It will be too late. And like you, I can't sit idly by and let more women die to protect myself." She folded her arms over her chest. "So, I guess we're done," she concluded flatly, trying to control the quiver in her voice.

Sam felt like he had been gutted. He stared down at her for a long moment, saying nothing, but saying everything through his silence. "I guess we are," he finally replied, softer than she expected. "Excuse me."

As he moved past her, she shut her eyes, her stomach sinking as she slumped into the chair he had just occupied. It was still warm, his scent lingering in the air. With a deep breath, she opened the book Sam had been reading, trying to focus on the words, but her eyes were too blurry from tears.


	14. Chapter 14

Sam paced in his room, tugging at his hair as he tried to avoid the signs of Rachel in it, but failed. Her shampoo lingered on his sheets, her bag of clothes nestled on the left side of the bed, while a small pile of laundry grew in the corner. He could tell she had tried to hide it, probably until she figured out where to put it, but he noticed the lacy underwear right away. The very idea of her using herself as bait made him ill, let alone telling her that he couldn't be with her. He picked up the first thing he saw, a book on a shelf, and chucked it into the wall, missing the open space and sending it flying into the lamp that sat on his desk. It fell to the ground, shattering, and with a sigh, he sat on the end of his bed, defeated.

"Sam?" Dean asked, knocking on the door.

"I'm fine, Dean," he replied, knowing he must have heard the crash.

"Let me in."

"It's open."

Dean opened the door, quietly coming inside and shutting it behind himself. "Look, about Rachel—"

"She can do whatever she wants," Sam interrupted, his tone stiff as he looked at the floor.

With an arched brow, Dean stepped closer. "Sam, you know you won't allow that, even if you say you will."

"She wants to. What can I do? I tried. She ignored what I said. So …" He looked up, lips pressed tightly together. "So whatever."

"You're not very convincing right now."

"It doesn't matter. She'll likely leave soon anyway."

"Why?" Dean asked, confused.

"Because I told her I couldn't be with her if she did this."

Dean rubbed his eyes. "Well, that was a dumbass move."

"Dean, I can't sit back and watch her do this," Sam argued. "I won't. If she wants to, great. I'm not endorsing it."

"We risk our asses multiple times a day. Why is this different?"

"Because it is."

"Because of Jessica, Madi-"

"Don't," Sam warned, glaring at Dean. "Don't go there."

Dean ignored him. "That's what this is, Sam. I get it. I get you're scared. But not having her back right now would be worse than being there to protect her."

"In case you haven't noticed, Arioch has at least tried twice to take her, both times we were extremely lucky to stop him. Hell, Cas couldn't even take him down. But you want to send her out as bait?"

"The difference with Rachel is, she's a hunter."

"She's been hunting for two years, Dean."

"That's two years of her kicking ass without you."

"Not against a grigori who wants to rape her."

Dean inhaled deeply. "Then protect her," he concluded. "Have her back."

"If she were involved with you, would you let her do this?" Sam countered.

"I'd be scared shitless," Dean replied, holding Sam's gaze. "But I know I'd do anything to protect her, and that my brother would have her back. I know we'd never let anything happen to her."

"We can't always control it."

"No. But life can't be controlled, Sam. Hell, we're living in a world where angels are mostly assholes, and there are other worlds with all kinds of scary shit." He patted Sam's back. "I haven't seen you look as happy as you did this morning in a long time. And I haven't seen anyone who witnessed something like Rachel did last night look so at peace. That doesn't happen every day."

"I know it doesn't, which is why I can't pretend I'm alright with this."

Sam left his own room, Dean shutting his eyes and hanging his head, opening them a few moments later when he heard someone come in. Rachel quietly moved toward her bag, gathering some things and stuffing them in. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean said, intercepting her as she tried to pack. "Look, I know you're pissed at Sam, but you're not leaving here, kid."

She eyed him. "As I told your brother, you don't get to control what I do."

"Rachel, there's a grigori out there who wants you. Do you think it's smart right now to leave probably the only safe place you can be at?"

Rachel looked down. "I can't be here. I can't sit around and do nothing, Dean."

Dean tipped her head up with a gentle finger to her chin. "My brother is absolutely insane about you," he murmured. "So much so, that he's acting like a giant asshole because of it. But he cares about you, and so do I. The smart thing right now is, avoid him while you're mad at him, but don't leave. Hell, this bunker is big enough for it. Leaving is a guaranteed ticket to Arioch's supper table."

"Why doesn't he trust me?" she asked, looking at Dean. "You do."

"He does trust you, but he's afraid, Rachel. Because, like I said, he really, really, likes you." Dean patted her on the shoulder. "Take the time to be pissed, but not outside the bunker, okay?"

She drew in a deep breath, still gripping her bag. "Can you fix the thermostat in the other room? I … I can't sleep in here."

Dean pressed his lips together, giving her a small nod, following her out of the room.

* * *

When Dean left, Rachel sat on the bed of the guest room, digesting her argument with Sam. She knew he meant well, but it was difficult to see him so adamant to dismiss the best way to catch Arioch. Sure, it wasn't an easy choice to come to, but they were hunters-this is what they did. They hunted things, not hid from them. He wouldn't second guess giving himself up to catch Arioch, but he all but wanted to lock her in a tower and throw away the key.

Slowly, the room warmed up, but it wasn't nearly as warm as Sam's room had been. He was an amazing man. Kind, generous, passionate, sensual, strong, loving. Too loving, maybe. His affection was what kept her from getting justice for Hailey. She knew Dean was right, that seeking out Arioch on her own wasn't a good move, but sitting in the guest room of the bunker twiddling her thumbs wasn't exactly making any progress either.

Rachel's phone rang; she looked at the caller ID, not recognizing the number. "Agent Markson," she said.

The baritone voice on the other end laughed. "Who are you fooling, Rach?" the man asked.

Rachel smiled. "Oh my God, Vance! Where the hell have you been?" Vance Matthews was one of the first hunters she ever worked with. He was a dashing guy with cropped blond hair and dark brown eyes, a bit smaller than the Winchesters, but incredibly skilled and sweet. He was her first crush after Alex, but he was with his girlfriend, Gina, so she never made a move. They hunted a few times together, but their meetings were sporadic at best.

Vance grinned. "Phone's dead. Using Jimmy's. I've been holed up underground, searching for the same damn Chimera we were until you ditched me last week."

"Shit," she murmured. "I'm sorry. I … got sidetracked."

"I heard," he continued to tease. "Rumor has it you're in Lincoln?"

"Yeah, I'm after a grigori."

"Shit, Rach." Vance's tone turned serious. "What the hell are you doing after something like that?"

Rachel swallowed, feeling the tears threaten to escape. "It killed Hailey, Vance," she whispered.

The other end was quiet for a moment. "Where are you?" Vance asked, determined. "I'm coming to help." She knew his help could be good, but she also knew what kind of waves it would make.

"No," she said quickly, "you need to work on the Chimera, and—"

"Fuck that," Vance said softly. "Jimmy can lead that. I need to be with you right now."

"But Gina—"

"We, uh … we split."

Rachel swallowed. "Oh. I'm sorry."

"I'm not letting you do this alone, Rach. What motel are you at?"

"I'm … I'm not in Lincoln at the moment."

"Well, where are you?"

"Lebanon, Kansas."

"Which motel?"

"I'm …" Rachel paused, feeling the ghostly touch of Sam's mouth on her skin. "I'm with the Winchesters."

Vance drew in a breath. "The Winchesters?"

"Yeah."

She could tell from his tone that he was pissed. "Those guys are trouble, Rach. They attract all kinds of shit."

"They've been good to me," she admitted, feeling nervously torn.

"Still, you're not safe if you're around them," Vance insisted. "They've got a reputation for losing hunting partners. Two control freaks. Look, I'm in Chicago, but I'll be in Lebanon by morning."

"No! Vance, you don't—"

"Rach, I have your back. Those assholes will just have to deal with it."

Rachel smirked. "So sweet, just like a big brother."

Vance smiled, his tone sending chills up her spine. "Or like a guy who cares about you."

She digested his words for a moment. "Vance," she said softly, trying to suppress her nerves. "I don't think they'd just like you waltzing in here."

"Screw those Prima Donnas," Vance growled.

"Just, stay put. I'll talk to them, okay?"

Vance sighed. "You're killing me, Rach. Alright. But you call the second you need me, you hear?"

"I will."

When Vance hung up, Rachel pulled the phone away from her ear, eyes wide. "Oh shit," she whispered, reality setting in. In so many words, Vance just admitted he liked her. And Sam, the man who made her feel so safe, was brooding in the library. Sam was not going to like that he had competition, even if she wasn't planning on pursuing Vance. She drew in a deep breath. It didn't matter. They needed help with Arioch, and like it or not, Vance had a lot of skill and experience. She would suggest his help.

And Sam would just have to deal.

* * *

Sam looked up from his laptop as Dean came back into the library. "Anything?" Dean asked, coming over to his brother's side. Sam shook his head. "Look, about Rachel-"

"Just …" Sam sighed. "I don't want to talk about it right now."

"I get it. But you should know she moved out of your room." Dean folded his arms over his chest. "You had a good thing going, Sammy."

Sam ignored him, looking back down at the laptop as Castiel blinked in. "Anything?" Castiel asked.

"If we are able to cast this binding spell in Arioch's presence," Sam began, "we can ground him long enough to put a blade through him."

"Great, what do we need?" Dean asked.

"Something none of us are going to give up," his brother sighed. "A soul in exchange."

"We could use a banishing sigil," Dean suggested. He looked to Castiel. "He would go down with one of those, right?"

"Yes," Castiel replied, "but the problem is getting him to stay long enough for the sigil to be completed."

"And it would also banish Cas," Sam murmured.

"So, Cas couldn't come," Dean concluded.

"You don't want to face Arioch without power," Castiel warned. "I was barely able to contain him myself. He would decimate you both."

Sam tapped his chin. "What about a suppression sigil?" he asked, eyeing Castiel.

"Worked on Lucifer," Dean said with a nod.

"It is a very brief window of time," Castiel argued.

"We don't have a ton of options, Cas."

"What if we summoned him?" Sam said, receiving an arched brow from Dean.

"Summon him where?" Dean asked.

"Here. In the dungeon. Then, we could have an imprisonment sigil already in place, trapping him. It would give us time to enact the suppression sigil, then kill him."

Everyone was quiet. "It's not a terrible idea," Dean finally said. "Once we summon him, someone has to enact the suppression, and someone needs to spear him. And at least one person has to have Rachel's back."

Castiel didn't look happy. "You do realize that if you're unable to kill him, you have willingly invited him into the bunker. He could come at any time."

Sam drew in a deep breath. "Yeah, that probably won't work." He rubbed his eyes. "So, what's left, then?"

"A whole lotta nothing," Dean sighed.

"We'll keep looking," Sam resolved.

Rachel quietly stepped into the library, catching the three men's attention, especially Sam's. His brow wrinkled as he saw her hesitance. "Guys, I …" She paused, drawing in a breath. "You need to know that I didn't plan this, but I … I think it could end up helping."

"Didn't plan what?" Dean asked.

"I just got off the phone with a hunter friend of mine, Vance Matthews. He's offered to help, if we need it."

Dean's brow shot up. "You called him?"

"No. He called to check up on me when he heard I was in Lincoln. He was concerned," Rachel replied, a little stiff.

"Concerned about what?" Sam said, standing with purpose.

"About what happened with Hailey," she said, meeting his eyes. "We've worked together before. He's a good hunter. I mean, we aren't really moving forward with this right now. He's got experience with nephilim. It can't hurt to have another mind on this one."

"I've heard of him," Castiel said quietly, gaining everyone's attention. "He led the take down a nephilim-led sex trafficking ring in Pennsylvania."

"That's a thing?" Dean asked.

"Unfortunately."

Dean ran a hand over his face. He glanced over to Sam, who looked like he was ready to kill something. "So, he could still have contacts of those who might know Arioch."

"Potentially."

"James Gray knew about Arioch," Rachel added. "There's bound to be others who know about him. Maybe Vance can bridge the gap."

"James Gray is psychotic," Sam argued.

"He wasn't completely off base," Rachel shot back.

"We don't need help," Sam insisted.

"Last I checked, we didn't have any viable options other than trying to get some outside help." She narrowed her eyes. "Aside from you letting me do my job, that is."

Sam turned away from Rachel, trying to focus on something—anything—but her beautiful eyes. He had no idea who Vance Matthews was, but he hated him already. "Convenient how he turns up now," Sam muttered.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Where was he when Hailey was first taken?" Sam asked, turning back to her.

"Hunting, Sam," Rachel replied, searching his eyes. "Doing his job."

"We don't need him."

Rachel scoffed. "Your way or no way, right Sam?" she muttered, looking at Dean. "Do you agree with him?"

Dean pressed his lips together. "Sweetheart. You're really going to toss me in the middle of this clusterfuck?"

Frustrated, Rachel stormed out of the library. The three were silent as they listened to her stalk back to the guest room, wincing as the door slammed shut. "Well, that went well," Dean said.

"What the hell is she thinking?" Sam growled, pacing away to a bookshelf.

"That she wants to get a jump on Arioch?" Dean suggested.

"We don't even know this guy!" Sam argued.

Dean approached his brother, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Sam," he said gently, "I know you're on edge, but you've got to take a step back and look at things for the good of the case. I mean … she's trying. She's trying to find a way. That's what you wanted, right? An alternative?"

Sam drew in a deep breath. He knew Dean was right. Still, he was aching, dying inside from the fight with Rachel. He was desperate to hold her, to kiss her. He couldn't, though. He couldn't be with her if she refused to let him protect her. "Fine," he muttered. He walked back over to his laptop, shutting the lid and heading toward her room. "I'll let her know."


	15. Chapter 15

Rachel wasn't expecting to see Sam on the other side of her door when she answered the gentle knock. "The guys wanted you to know that you can call your friend," he said quietly, avoiding her eyes.

"Sam, can we talk?" Rachel asked.

He looked up, his heart clenching as he examined her. She was so damn beautiful; he wanted to take her into his arms and show her just how insane she made him. "Sure." She stepped aside, allowing him space to slip in before shutting her door. "Warmer in here than before," he noted, keeping his back to her.

"Dean fixed the thermostat," she replied softly. Rachel wrang her hands, looking at Sam's broad back. "This wasn't something I did on purpose," she said, noticing how he paused. "It just happened, and I thought it might be helpful."

Sam nodded. "It is," he murmured. "He might have connections."

"So … you're not mad?"

He turned, looking down at her. "Only for you being in this mess to begin with," he whispered. "Only for what Arioch did to Hailey, to you." He stepped closer. "But not at you."

Rachel's pulse quickened. "But you were before."

"I was mad that you were put into a position where you needed to risk yourself." Sam drew nearer, his fingers raking through her hair, cupping her cheek. "I was mad that the best idea was the scariest. I was mad that I would need to willingly risk you to protect you." His other hand found the other side of her face, cradling her head. "I was mad that as soon as I got you, your life was being put on the line. I was mad at myself for putting you there."

"Sam," Rachel whispered, "you've done nothing but help and protect me since the day I met you. You can't blame yourself for this, or for whatever will happen as we catch him."

"I just …" He shut his eyes. "I just worry about you."

"Because you care," she concluded, seeing his eyes open as he stepped in closer.

"So much."

Her heart fluttered as he bent to her, his lips seeking hers with a gentle brush. They paused, Sam's warm breath coasting over Rachel as her phone rang obnoxiously in her pocket. "I'm … I'm sorry…" Pained, she pulled away, answering it. He saw her gulp, and the way her eyes rounded as she listened to whoever greeted her. "Hey, Vance," she said softly, catching Sam's immediate disdain.

"Hey. So, I'm ready to leave Chi-Town. Say the word," Vance said, jingling his car keys.

Rachel watched as Sam backed away a little, his focus shifting to the ground. "Sam and Dean … the, uh, Winchesters … said they would like your help."

"I'm there for you," Vance reminded her. "Because I don't trust those guys, Rach. They've got their own motivations for everything." He paused. "So, I'll see you in the morning. Text me the address, 'kay?"

"Okay."

"And Rach?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really looking forward to seeing you."

Rachel blushed. "You saw me last week."

Vance grinned. "That's a whole seven days without you by my side. It's enough to torture a guy."

Her flush darkened, feeling Sam's intense stare on her from above. She knew he saw the reaction, and she hated that she had one. "It'll be good to see you too," she said quietly, the awkwardness of the conversation almost more than she could bear.

"Bye, Rach."

"Bye, Vance."

Rachel hung up, taking a deep breath. "He said he will be here in the morning," she murmured to Sam, who looked ready to kick a kitten and punch a puppy.

Sam smiled; it was painfully forced. "Great."

"He's a good hunter, and a good guy. I'm sure he will help," Rachel said quietly, hoping to put Sam at ease. She winced at how it ended up sounding, wanting to kick herself for even talking about Vance in front of Sam.

"Yeah. I'm sure he will." He headed for the door, halfway opening it. "I, uh, need to go finish reading," he murmured. "Goodnight, Rachel."

* * *

Sam slipped out of the room, heading straight for the kitchen. He couldn't stay, not after seeing the way Vance made her blush, the way she said she was looking forward to seeing him. It was too much to process. Sam wasn't dumb. He read between the lines. Vance Matthews would try to take her, and she didn't seem to mind being the subject of his chase. The mere idea that anyone would try to stake claim on Rachel drove him wild. She was his.

He dug out a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass, sitting down at the table and pouring himself one. Sam tipped back the amber liquid easily, letting it burn down his throat as he shut his eyes.

Dean was right. He had an amazing thing going with Rachel. But he blew it, just like he knew he eventually would. He fixed a second shot, knocking it back. Anger moved over him, replacing the sadness temporarily. There was no way in hell he would ever be okay using her as bait. How could he be? A third shot, then a fourth. He paused, readying himself for a fifth when he set the bottle down, head hanging. Now, some douchebag was coming into his home barely invited—his home—and threatening to take Rachel—his Rachel—from him. Sam knocked back the fifth shot, enraged. Vance Matthews had another thing coming. He wouldn't go down without a fight. Shots numbers six and seven burned, his head woozy. Rachel was his. No one else's. Eight and nine followed quickly, probably too quickly. Sam eyed the bottle, deciding on an even ten.

Dean came into the kitchen with a sniff. "Smells like teen spirit in here," he said, brow arched as he looked at his little brother hunched over the table, his hair a mess. "Alright, big guy, how many did you do?"

"Nine. Gotta make it even," Sam muttered, going to pour another when Dean took the bottle out of his hand before he could spill it, noting the significant reduction of its contents.

"Oh no you don't," Dean said, setting it aside. "Come on," he encouraged, helping Sam to stand. "Let's get you in bed."

Despite the difference in height, Dean expertly maneuvered Sam down the hallway next to himself, holding him steady as he guided him to his room. Opening the door, Dean ushered Sam in; Sam all but fell onto the mattress on his stomach, sprawled diagonally across it as Dean yanked off his boots.

"She's mine," he heard Sam mutter into the sheets. "If he thinks he can take her, he can suck my—"

"Alright," Dean said, patting him on the back. "But you know, you need to do more than drink yourself into a mess. You've gotta talk to her."

"Can't. She hates me."

Dean shook his head. The boyish reasoning was typical Drunk Sam. "She doesn't hate you, you idiot."

He grumbled. "She's 'looking forward to seeing him.' So am I—I want to rearrange his stupid face."

"Just sleep it off, then talk to her in the morning."

"She won't listen."

"Yes, she will. Don't be a bitch about it."

Sam growled into his pillow."What the fuck kinda name is Vance, anyway?" Sam slurred. "I'll kick his fucking ass for having a douchey name."

Dean sighed, pulling the blanket over him, slipping into the bathroom for a moment before returning to the room. "You're probably going to hate yourself tomorrow, so take these two Tylenol and two glasses of water as soon as you wake up." He set it down on his nightstand, flicking the light off. "G'night, Sammy."

"Dean?" Sam asked, not moving.

Dean paused in the doorway. "Yeah?"

"Thanks. And load your gun. I'mma need you to shoot him if I'm hungover tomorrow."

Dean chuckled. "Not if, Sammy. When."

* * *

Sam slowly opened one eye the next morning, remembering Dean's parting words. His brother was right. He did hate himself for downing that much whiskey in a short period of time.

With a groan, he buried his face into the pillow, grumbling as he realized it was the one Rachel had used. It smelled like her. "Fuck," he growled, the scent not only pissing him off, but turning him on. Hungover with a hard on wasn't a good combination.

He reached up blindly on the nightstand, swiping the two Tylenol from it and shoving them into his mouth. He managed to sloppily drink a half a glass of water before flopping back down to the bed, lavender assaulting his nose. In his haze, he wasn't sure if he wanted to tear the pillow apart, or cuddle with it.

God damn, she was beautiful. He couldn't help but think about her smile, her laugh, her sweetness, her soft, warm body, her gasps as he pleasured her, and how his name sounded as she screamed it in ecstasy. He knew he had to talk to her, to beg her to forgive him for being an ass, but he also wanted to hear her admit that she understood why he acted the way he did. And he wanted to hear her screaming his name as he brought her pleasure, not that douchebag's stupid name. A pile of bricks sat on his back and his head, and he remained pressed down into her pillow, the throbbing of his head and his member both equally horrible.

Sam wasn't sure how long he laid there, but by the time he finally attempted to get up, the Tylenol had done little to prevent the pounding in his head. He ran a hand through his hair, deciding on a shower. Slowly gathering clean clothes, he padded his way to the bathroom, shutting himself in.

The shower took a lot longer than it should've, and by the time he got out and managed to head into the kitchen for some coffee, he heard a male voice he didn't recognize. He immediately bristled, hand frozen as he gripped the handle of the coffee pot. Vance fucking Matthews. As calmly as he could, he poured himself some coffee, focusing on drinking half of it before refilling and cracking his neck. He was readying himself for battle, straightening as he tried to forget the ache in his head, focusing on the goal: Rachel.

Sam made his way into the library, immediately setting his eyes on the asshole he assumed was Vance Matthews. In his hungover state, he wanted to laugh, but held it back. Vance was much smaller than he was. He wouldn't be a challenge, even if he felt like shit right now. Still, he was far too close to Rachel, who looked good enough to eat in her jeans and a tight, white knit top, a hint of her bra showing through the fibers.

The focus in the room shifted to Sam, Dean's brows arched as he took in his brother's cocky smile. "Oh boy," he muttered.

Vance approached Sam with an outstretched hand. "You must be Sam," he said, a polite smile spread on his face. "Vance Matthews. I've heard a lot of good things about you."

Sam took Vance's hand, nearly crushing it as he saw Rachel watching. "I've heard you're chummy with nephilim sex traffickers," Sam said with a barely concealed grin.

Vance laughed. "If by chummy, you mean responsible for their takedown, then yes."

Sam shrugged. "Actually, I just meant chummy. You know, considering your remaining contacts."

"Ooh-kay," Dean said, patting Sam's back; Sam released Vance's hand, keeping his eye on him. "So, Vance was just about to give us some potential leads." Dean looked to Vance, who nodded.

"You've spoken to Gray, I assume?" Vance asked.

"He was … interesting," Rachel murmured.

Vance raised a brow. "You went in there with him?"

"She held her own," Sam said, stepping near Rachel.

"I've no doubt that she did," Vance replied, eyeing him. The two stared each other down for a bit, then Vance looked to Rachel. "She's also a great hunter," he added, sidling up to her, putting a casual arm around her shoulders with a knowing smile.

Rachel swallowed, seeing behind Sam's cocky smile to the jealous and rage he struggled with. "Thanks," she murmured, attempting to shy away from Vance.

"Thing is, she's always so modest," he continued, grinning down at her. "She's got a lot of talents she doesn't take credit for." He flicked his eyes up to Sam's.

Sam's nostrils flared at the insinuation; he set his coffee down. "So, where are these other contacts?" he asked.

"I've got a few people I'll reach out to," Vance replied, looking from Rachel to Sam, keeping his arm around her. "This is a nice place you boys have," he said. "Must be nice to not have to do the motel scene."

"We've done our fair share."

"I'm sure you have. So have we, right Rach?" Vance winked down at her; she stiffened, hating the blatant competition she was in the middle of.

"Excuse me," she murmured, slipping away from Vance and heading into the kitchen.

"So, Vance" Castiel said, gaining Vance's attention, "about the other contacts?"

"I'll get on that now," he smiled. "Mind if I step outside to make a couple calls?"

Dean ushered to the door, the three watching as Vance went outside, phone to his ear. Sam growled, taking up his coffee and heading toward the kitchen, Dean watching. "Clusterfuck," he muttered.

Sam stepped into the kitchen, seeing Rachel hunched over the counter. "Hey," he murmured, setting his coffee down and approaching her, "I just … um …"

"Nice pissing contest," Rachel said, keeping her eyes on the countertop.

Sam scoffed. "He's not exactly a choir boy himself."

"No, but you're not exactly being any better than he is, which is what you said you wanted to do."

Sam turned her to himself, tilting her chin up. "Rachel, I'm sorry," he whispered, his fingers running over her face. "Yeah, I feel territorial. Do you blame me?"

"I know that he deserves a better impression of you."

"Fine. But he needs to back off."

She pulled away. "I think I can decide for myself, thanks."

"Please don't tell me you like that dickhead," he begged.

"That 'dickhead' saved my ass a few times," she corrected.

"And that's wonderful. But he's still an asshole."

"Sam—"

Sam stepped closer, his thumb over her lips. "I'm fighting for you," he whispered. "And I'm not going to stop until you tell me to. I know … I know I haven't been at my best, but I meant it when I said you're mine. And I'm not about to let some douchebag like Vance make you settle for less."

"Weren't you the one who decided you couldn't be with me because of my choice?"

"I was. I did. And it was a mistake. But I'll be damned if I lose you to him."

Rachel searched Sam's eyes, unable to help but press into his touch. "Then you need to trust me," she whispered. "You need to believe that I am capable."

"And I do. But I can't stop being afraid for you." He stepped closer. "I won't ever not want to protect you." He kissed her forehead. "I won't ever not want to keep you safe."

He cupped the other side of her face, leaning in and brushing a soft kiss against her lips, a throat clearing behind them making him pause. "Vance has a lead," Castiel said quietly.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm sure he does," he growled.

Rachel's eyes narrowed; she pulled away from him. "And by that, you mean what, exactly?"

"I mean that he could've just given you his leads, but instead he's got to have control."

"Gee, I wonder who that reminds me of."

Rachel passed Castiel out of the kitchen with a huff, Sam watching her leave. "Hey Cas," Sam said, his knuckles white on the counter as he gripped it, "can you smite him or something?"

"That would be murder, Sam," Castiel replied with a serious face.

"I'm okay with that."

"Perhaps you should try to get along with Vance. Then Rachel might not be as upset."

Sam sighed. "Yeah. Maybe. Or, I could just kill him, which would be more fun."

Before Castiel could object, Sam left, arms folded over his chest as he saw Rachel shrugging on her coat. "We're going to talk to an informant of mine," Vance said, giving Sam a small smile.

Sam smiled back. "Great. I'll come with." He wasted no time grabbing his jacket, not caring about the awkwardness of inviting himself.

"Great," Vance replied stiffly, eyeing Sam as he pushed himself between him and Rachel.

"Dean?" Sam asked, keeping his smile on his face. "You coming?"

Dean's brow arched. "Yep." He swiped up the Impala keys. "I'll drive." He glanced to Sam, giving him a small nod.

"Uh, sure," Vance replied, "sounds good."

Rachel looked up at Sam as Vance walked outside behind Dean. "Can't stand to lose control, can you?" she said.

"He just needs to know his place," Sam shrugged.

She eyed him. "Sam—"

"Rachel, I told you, I'm fighting for you. If you want me to back down, I will. Just say the word." Sam examined her through her silence, watching her hesitantly walk away a few moments later. "Game on, douchebag," he said to himself with a small smile.


	16. Chapter 16

The four arrived at Vance's contact's workplace, a small diner outside of Topeka, three hours later. Much to Sam's annoyance, Vance managed to occupy the seat next to Rachel, so he purposely took the one across from her.

"Hey, Vance," the small waiter said nervously as he approached. "I only see you when you want something."

Sam muttered under his breath, "Huh. Seems like he has a pattern." Rachel didn't miss it; she eyed him.

"Gavin," Vance said with a smile. "Just want to see what the word is on the street." He smiled at Rachel. "But let's order first." He nodded to her to begin.

"I'll just have water," she murmured.

"Gentlemen?" Vance asked.

"Whatever's on tap," Dean said.

"Water, please," Sam replied.

"And I'll take an iced tea," Vance finished, watching as Gavin went off to get their drinks. "Gavin is a nephilim," Vance explained softly. "Bit of an outcast, but he still gets the updates on the latest."

"Why is he an outcast?" Sam asked.

"He isn't a true supporter of the nephilim domination efforts that rose from when the angels fell. Call him old fashioned, but he just wants a normal life, if you will." Vance adjusted in his seat; Sam didn't miss how he shifted closer to Rachel. "Like any informant, he plays the fence."

Sam focused on Vance, doing his best to remain neutral. "What does he get in exchange for his intel?"

"A little cash here and there, a favor to be cashed in on."

Gavin returned to the table with their drinks, placing them down in front of each person. "So, what are you looking to know?" he asked softly.

"What's the buzz on Arioch?" Vance asked, sipping his iced tea.

Gavin's brow shot up. "Arioch?"

"Yeah. The Watcher."

Sam and Dean watched Gavin give a small shrug. "It's F&B time, so he's been doing his thing."

"Feeding and breeding," Rachel concluded, bitterness evident in her tone.

Gavin nodded. "Yeah. We try to stay out of his hair when he's busy, you know?"

She pursed her lips, eyes narrowed. "Sure."

"What about where he is, or where he likes to frequent?" Dean asked.

"He usually picks off women people won't miss," Gavin shrugged. "Those with little family or those in small towns with no ties. It helps to keep him off the radar."

Sam saw the look in Rachel's eyes; he boldly reached over and laid his hand over hers that was fiddling with her utensil bundle, feeling her calm under his touch. He focused on her, pressing smooth strokes into her skin, catching her eyes as she looked up and tried to offer him a smile of thanks.

"And where does he do this at?" Dean continued.

"He doesn't really disclose that," Gavin replied, taking out his pad and pen. "But, you might want to try the local strip clubs and downtown bars. He's taken ones from there before."

"Tell us more about James Gray," Sam said, keeping his hand on Rachel's. He was completely unconcerned with Vance, focused on information and comforting her.

"He worked with Arioch before, until he was committed," Gavin said.

"What did he do with him?"

"He … He scouted for him."

"He helped pick women," Vance concluded. Gavin nodded.

"He said he was just a messenger," Dean corrected.

"That's what he always called himself," Gavin explained. "He would never take credit for any of Arioch's choices, but he helped to vet them. James was really devoted to Arioch's work."

"Then what happened?" Sam asked. "Did they have a falling out?"

"Look," Gavin murmured, glancing over his shoulder, "I have to look like I'm working. So, give me some orders and I'll come back in a bit."

Reluctantly, the group ordered, Dean watching as Gavin left. "Did you see the sweat on that kid?" he murmured, still looking in the direction of his departure.

"Yeah," Sam nodded.

"He did sound a bit panicked," Rachel agreed.

Dean stood. "I'll use the restroom. See if I can see anything."

Sam watched as Dean left, keeping his hand over Rachel's. "What he said," he began softly to Rachel, unconcerned about Vance's presence, "it was sick. I'm sorry."

Rachel nodded. "Thanks." She watched their hands as Sam intertwined his fingers through hers, feeling Vance's glare and catching a hint of it out of the corner of her eyes. The heat of his skin was more than comforting, his tender touch just what she needed. She knew Sam was going to fight to win her back, but she wasn't expecting herself to let him gain the lead so easily. Still, they just fit together. It made sense. Vance was a great guy, but she didn't have the same spark with him as she did with Sam. It was hard, though, to be seated between two men who clearly loathed each other and were after the same thing, especially when she cared for both. She didn't want to hurt either one of them.

Dean came back to the table, sitting with a sigh. "Didn't see him. I'm guessing he's in the kitchen."

Only, when their food came minutes later in the hands of a new waiter, they got their answer. Sam reluctantly withdrew his hand from Rachel's, making room for their lunches. "What happened to Gavin?" Vance asked politely.

"He had to leave early," the waiter said, leaving the table after confirming everything was okay.

"Son of a bitch," Vance growled when the waiter left.

"So, he ghosted," Dean said, rubbing his eyes.

"We can at least start with the leads he did give us."

"How do we know he's not setting us up?" Sam countered. "If he checked out on us, he's got to be afraid of something."

"He's right," Dean agreed, biting into his burger. "There's a reason he skipped out."

"Or, he gave us good info and got scared, panicked, and left," Vance said.

"There's only one way to find out," Rachel said, pushing the salad around in her plate as she met Sam and Dean's eyes. "We go bar hopping tonight in Lincoln."

Vance smirked at her. "You planning on hustling people at darts?" he teased.

Rachel smiled softly. "Maybe. Cash is running low."

"We could always divide and conquer," Vance suggested, looking up at Dean first. "You two could take the strip clubs, and Rach and I could go to bars." He looked over at Sam, keeping his smirk hidden, though his eyes gave it away.

"No deal," Sam replied, holding his gaze. He gave him a firm stare, one lacking cockiness or challenge. He didn't need it-she was with him, and that's just how it would be. "She's not leaving my sight."

"I think I can handle watching her."

Sam smiled coolly. "Like I said, she's with me. Feel free to join us, or to load up on singles."

Dean chewed his burger, keeping an eye on the territory fight. "It's gotta be two and two," he said. "We each need backup."

Vance held Sam's gaze, seeing him unwilling to relent. "Strip clubs it is," he finally said, looking back to his food.

Rachel swallowed. Vance must have been intimidated, because he wasn't one to relent-especially not to someone like Sam Winchester, who he thought was a selfish jerk. She half expected a fist fight to break out, grateful one didn't. Even if Sam was hungover, which she didn't fail to notice, he would easily take down Vance, though Vance would try like hell to win.

The rest of the meal was awkward, no one hardly speaking. Despite the earlier battle for territory, Vance paid for their meals, Sam being extra careful to remain polite. He knew Vance was more than pissed that he wasn't spending the night with Rachel, and that he didn't get to sit in the back seat with her on their way to Lincoln. As much as he wanted to, he didn't want to rub salt in the wound. He would be better than that.

* * *

Sam kept his hand over Rachel's for the entire three hours, their silent connection nourishing him more than he knew he needed. He was determined to prove to her by the end of the night that he trusted her and supported her.

Dean dropped him and Rachel off at the downtown strip, the main section of the city dotted with bars of all varieties. Sam could practically feel Vance's glare as he passed him, his hand finding Rachel's lower back and guiding her as they walked down the sidewalk together. They focused on visiting the least appealing bars, hoping what Gavin said about Arioch's habits were true. Sam was grateful he brought his gun, since Rachel hadn't. Not that it would do much to stop Arioch, but the security of it felt comforting.

Sam held the door for Rachel, his guard up as he examined the dingy space. She was practically a piece of filet minon in a sea of brisket, her naturally youthful face turning more than a few heads. His pulse quickened; he kept her close to his side as he found space for them at the far end of the bar.

She must have noticed his tension, offering him a smile as she leaned into him. "Relax. I'm not a delicate flower."

"You're literally likely the best thing that's ever walked into this place," Sam replied. "Basically a T-bone steak in a pack a dogs." Rachel rolled her eyes. "I'm serious!" Sam insisted with a grin. "Just take a look around if you don't believe me."

Rachel glanced around, seeing a lot of guys watching her. "Okay, now I feel weird."

"You should," Sam teased. "It's all your fault for being so beautiful."

She laughed, shaking her head as the bartender came up to them. "What can I get you?" he asked. Sam looked to Rachel.

"Heineken, please," Rachel said.

"Make it two," Sam said after, watching the bartender walk away to retrieve their beers, returning a moment later. Sam slid him the cash plus tip, holding up his bottle to Rachel. "To me proving to you that I'm more than a control freak asshole," he smirked, seeing her grin.

"And to me easing up on you and letting you protect me," she added.

They clinked their bottles together, each tipping back a hearty pull of beer. Rachel sighed, looking at the bottle. "To be honest, I'm not sure how much I should drink tonight," she laughed. "I only had two beers at the motel and conked out."

"I won't complain if you fall asleep on me," Sam said, his dimples showing as he matched her smile.

"Are you trying to get me back into your bed?"

"Is it working?"

She kept her smile, looking away. "Too early to tell," she murmured, feeling his intent gaze.

Sam took another long drink with a smirk. "Then I'll ask you again later." He nodded to the dart board. "Vance said you hustle people at darts?"

Rachel shrugged. "I might."

"So, show me what you've got."

She looked at him. "Are you challenging me?"

"I am." He stood, moving to the dart board and taking out a twenty dollar bill. "You in?"

She was dumbfounded, but she followed and took out her own cash, setting it down on the table next to where they stood. "Let's see what you've got."

"Three rounds, five-oh-one?"

"Sure."

Sam took three darts, standing on the throw line, eyeing the circular board. "What else are we playing for?"

"Besides cash?"

"Yeah." He looked at her.

"Well, if I win, then you need to streak naked through the entire bunker wearing only Dean's cowboy hat. With Castiel there."

Sam laughed heartily, giving her a small nod. "Alright." He paused, looking her over. "If I win, you need to let me give you an orgasm in the back of the Impala while Dean is driving."

Rachel's jaw dropped. "No way!"

"Oh yeah," Sam grinned, wetting his lips. "And you'll have to be discreet, because Dean will definitely kill us if he knew." He chuckled silently as he saw her shocked expression. "So, deal?" He moved in closer, taking a drink. "How good at darts are you?"

Rachel's face was on fire. She swallowed, her heart racing. He was dead serious. "Fine. Deal," she said confidently, although she felt far from it.

Sam handed her the darts. "Ladies first." He grinned, his eyes skimming down to take in her backside as she moved into position. She was focused, her stance showing her practiced skill. She threw one hundred and fifty five points in the first round. "Nicely done," Sam said, removing her darts.

"Thank you," she smirked, unable to help but look at his backside as he stepped to the line. Her eyes rounded when he threw two hundred and twenty points in the first round. "Damn," she muttered.

"You might want to start thinking of how you'll hide from Dean."

Rachel grabbed the darts. "You're awfully cocky."

Sam shrugged. "I'm just thinking about my inevitable prize."

Rachel focused, throwing two hundred and forty points in the second round. "So am I," she replied, catching Sam's arched brow.

He threw two hundred points after her. "Sixty one points from victory. Hope you can get that one-oh-six."

She took a long drink, plucking the darts from the board. She sunk the first one in fifty-five, the second in fifty. Then, she grinned at Sam. "Can't wait to see Cas' face." With a sure throw, she landed the single point mark dead center.

Sam applauded her, then took a long drink. His first dart landed a twenty, his second just making it into forty. He paused, looking back at her. "We didn't say what we'd do in the event of a tie."

Rachel pursed her lips. "Sudden death?"

Sam shook his head. "I vote we combine our prizes."

"How?"

"You'll see."

Sam turned back, landing the single point mark with his last dart. Rachel's eyes widened as she watched Sam finish his beer. "Nicely done, Winchester."

"You too, Lentz." He moved in toward her, a devilish grin playing on his lips. "I'm ready for my prize."

"Which is what, exactly?" she asked, her breath a little shaky as his hand slid up her waist.

Sam grabbed their cash, taking her outside with him with urgency. They rounded the corner, coming to a poorly lit alley. He stopped, turning her to face himself. Pressing her to the bricks, he devoured her mouth, swallowing her moan as he pinned her with his body, his lips hungrily tasting hers.

He felt ravenous, nearly feral as he pressed into her, her little pants and gasps making him insane. Sam's mouth moved to the space just below her earlobe, suckling her jaw as he thrust against her. "You," he whispered between kisses. "You're my prize. You always have been. And always will be."

She clung to his shoulders, helpless under his ministrations, the buzz from the beer and his sensual strength making her head light. Leaning against the bricks, she let his mouth attack her skin, his hands latching on to her hair and backside simultaneously as he ground himself against her.

"Shit, Sam," she shivered. "Maybe … we should …" She didn't finish her sentence as he trapped her lips in his, moaning as he pressed his hardened bulge against her heated core.

"Mine," he reminded her, pulling away just enough to speak. "And I will do whatever it takes to have you for the rest of my life."

"I was never not yours," Rachel said softly as he looked into her eyes.

"I was afraid I lost you."

"You pissed me off, but you didn't lose me."

"Thank God."

Sam kissed her, his fingers tightening in her hair. "We should be working," she whispered as he moved his mouth over her neck, her hands sliding into his hair.

"I am," he murmured into her skin. "I'm working on showing you how sorry I am, and how much I care about you."

"We have more bars to go to," Rachel reminded him, sadly pulling away, stroking his face. "Then we can continue this."

Sam pouted, which was adorable to Rachel. Still, she led him down the main strip, keeping her hand in his.

* * *

They went to three more bars, and by the time they left the last one hours later, Rachel was more than buzzed.

"You …" She poked his chest. "You made Vance mad," she giggled, clinging to Sam's thick arm as he guided her down the sidewalk.

Sam only had three beers all night, so he was able to keep Rachel steady. "I know," he replied softly.

"He wanted to date me," she continued, uninhibited. "Then you squashed him like a bug. He might shoot you."

"I'll take my chances."

"I liked him before," she confessed. "But he was dating someone. So, I was screwed."

Sam wasn't exactly sure how he would respond to her confessions, hoping she wouldn't say something she would regret in the morning, or he would regret hearing.

"He's a good guy, Sam," she slurred, misstepping a bit, Sam catching her.

"Whoa, easy, Tiger."

"He's not a bad guy, you know that right?" Sam nodded. "But I like you in a different way. Like, I like like you." She stopped, swaying as she looked into his eyes. "Do you like like me?"

Sam grinned. "Yes, I do."

Rachel blinked heavily, trying to focus on Sam. "I'm really glad. Because I might have to puke soon." Her brow wrinkled. "Why are there two of you?"

She swayed and he caught her. "Were you drinking behind my back?" Sam asked, concerned as he looked down at her.

"No," she shook her head. "I had …" She held up four fingers. "Four beers … and a shot you bought ..." Her eyes rounded, her mood shifting dramatically as she pulled away from Sam. "Wait. Who the fuck are you?"

Sam looked at her, confused. "It's me, Sam. I didn't buy you a shot."

"You're not him, and he did," she insisted. She yanked away from him, backing up with fear in her eyes. "Stay away from me."

He grabbed her arm and examined her eyes as she protested. "I'm warning you," she hissed, "let go!" She might have been a lightweight, but she was more than drunk. Her pupils were dilated; Sam took his phone out and shone the flashlight into them, watching as they remained dilated.

"Let go," she growled, decking him in the nose, then kicking him in the groin. Sam doubled over, his phone slipping from his grip, disabled just long enough for her to put distance between them.

He swiped up his phone from the concrete. Jaw and groin sore, he pursued her to near the entrance of the last bar they went to. "Rachel, you've been given a drug. I need to know who gave you that shot."

She kept moving away from him. "I don't owe you anything."

"Rachel, stop!"

"I will call the cops if you don't stop following me," she warned. Two burly guys standing outside observed the situation, their brows raised as Sam neared them.

One intercepted him. "Back off," he warned, nearly eye to eye with Sam.

"That's my girlfriend," Sam growled, shoving out of the guy's grip.

"You know him, sweetheart?" the other asked as the first grabbed Sam again, bracing him.

Rachel shook her head. "No, he's some creep."

"Rachel—"

Both of the guys stopped Sam from going to her, which pissed him off. "She's been drugged!" he shouted, shoving against their grip. Two to one didn't give Sam any advantages; though he freed himself, they grabbed him again. Sam decked one, the other knocking Sam back into the wall with a punch.

"Back off," the guy warned.

Sam swiped the blood from his nose, lunging at the two guys who tried to keep him from Rachel. Through dodging punches, Sam saw Rachel turn to a man who exited the bar. "Sam!" she said with a sigh. "Where were you?"

"Rachel!" Sam shouted, trying but failing to get a good look. The guy purposely kept his back to him, making Sam unable to see his face. "He's not me! He's not me, Rachel!"

"Walk away," one of his assailants said with narrowed eyes.

"Fuck off," Sam snarled, enraged as he fought off the two men. Through the struggle against them to get to Rachel, Sam saw the man stroking her face, Rachel almost perfectly still under his touch, just as she had been in the church.

It was Arioch.

"Son of a bitch!" Sam shoved the first man away, landing a hard hook into the second and an upper cut into the first, successfully freeing himself. He bolted for Rachel, heart racing. "Rachel! He's not me! Don't let him touch you!"

Before he could grab her arm, she disappeared. "Fuck!" he shouted, panicked as he scanned the area.

She was gone.


	17. Chapter 17

Rachel blinked her eyes open, swallowing to wet her dry throat as she looked at her surroundings. She was back in the bunker, laying on Sam's bed. She remembered the drinking, and the weird man who tried to tell her he knew her, but she didn't remember how she got back home.

"Sam?" she called softly, standing. She was in her pajamas; it must have been late because there wasn't a single peep in the hallway when she peeked out. Making her way through the darkness, she saw a glow emanating from the kitchen. "Sam?" she asked again.

Sam turned around, smiling down at her. "Hey," he said, coming over to her and giving her a kiss on the forehead. "What are you doing up?"

Rachel's brows were knit together, still perplexed by the mystery of how they got home. "I don't remember getting home," she replied. "How did we get home?"

"Dean drove," Sam said, eyeing her. "You okay?"

"But … Dean was with Vance."

"You were pretty buzzed. You fell asleep, so I guess you missed it all."

Rachel looked around the kitchen, blinking hard. She couldn't tell if it was from the haze of sleep or not, but the room seemed to have a thick fog over it. "Why is it foggy in here?"

"Foggy?" Sam asked, confused.

"Yeah."

Sam moved closer, stroking her cheek. "I'm worried about you," he said gently. "You seem distressed."

She felt herself relax under his touch, the fog fading a little. "It just scared me."

"Why would it scare you? You're home, and you're safe."

"Because … I should remember getting here."

"Buzzed, remember?"

Rachel nodded slowly, still not fully convinced. "Yeah. I guess."

Sam took her hand. "Come on. Let's get you back to bed." He led her down the hall and into his room, gently shutting the door behind them and drawing her close. His lips met hers, and she accepted his kiss, linking her arms around his neck.

With suddenness, she pulled away. "You … You taste different," she whispered.

Sam laughed. "I what?"

She took a step backwards. "You taste like … like ash. But you don't smoke."

He eyed her; she noticed the subtle change in his mood. "Why are you being so difficult?"

She was a little surprised by his snippy tone. "I'm not trying to be. It just … It feels weird."

Sam pulled her to himself, crushing her mouth on his. "Stop overthinking everything, Rachel," he urged between kisses. "Just relax."

Rachel kissed him, trying to ignore the ashy taste of his mouth and the cool touch of his fingers. None of it felt right, or good, but she was determined to try to forget her worries for his sake. He guided her down onto the bed, pulling her shirt off and going to unhook her bra when she saw a flare of orange in his eyes. With a gasp, she rolled out from under him, backing toward the door with shaky breaths. "You aren't Sam," she shuddered, twisting the knob. It wouldn't move. She yanked on it, desperate to free herself. Still, the door remained closed.

Sam slowly approached, a smile on his face. "I am Sam, sweetheart," he said, reaching out to touch her cheek, making contact. She paused, his touch somehow sedating her a little. "Who else would I be?"

"Arioch," Rachel shuddered, darting away from his touch and kicking at the door. "Help me! Someone-"

Arioch grabbed her from behind, one hand over her mouth, the other with two fingers pressed to her forehead. "Shh," he urged, her body falling limp in his arms. He was disgusted as he tossed her body onto the bed, eyeing her. "I guess we'll have to give you more drugs, won't we? Because you have to enjoy yourself for it to work, you little whore." Arioch sighed, his eyes flaring orange in rage. "Can't make it easy on me, can you? Just let me fuck you without a second thought. Nooo. Have to fight." He strolled over to her, examining her body. "If you weren't so perfect, I'd suck you dry right now and let you rot." His finger trailed over the rise of her breasts. "I sure hope you're worth the trouble, Rachel."

* * *

Sam was a panicked mess by the time Dean parked the Impala in front of the bar where Rachel disappeared. His hair was unkempt, his eyes red and wet, his hands shaking in his jacket pockets. "I reviewed the security tapes," he said as soon as Dean walked over to him, showing him his phone. "I was able to get a good frame, but we need to get this pic to someone who can do something with it." He jittered, tension riddling his body. "We'll have to go back to the police, but what can we even say? We witnessed him? I mean, what do we do?"

"Sam," Dean said gently, putting his hand on his brother's arm, "just … just breathe." He held Sam's gaze, forcing him to remain still. "We're going to get her back," he said, watching Sam's jaw tick. "Alive. Whole. We will. I promise you."

Sam looked down, gritting his teeth. "There's no way you can promise that, Dean."

He looked up when he heard Vance approaching. "Nice job," Vance growled, more than pissed. "Glad she was so safe with you."

Sam lunged for Vance, Dean stopping him short. "Hey," he shouted at Vance while holding Sam, "give me one good reason why I shouldn't let him deck you in the face." Dean glared at Vance, waiting.

Vance scoffed, turning away. After a moment, Dean let Sam go, who squeezed his eyes shut and moved the opposite way. "Okay," Dean continued, mainly addressing Sam in his natural big brother voice of assurance, "now, we're going to get this to the local PD for them to identify the man. It's all we can do right now. So, let's get a motel and we'll go first thing in the morning. Alright?"

Sam nodded, still looking out into the streets at the shops along the walkway. "Yeah."

* * *

The three got two hotel rooms, Sam and Dean sharing a double bed room. Dean had stripped down for bed, but Sam paced by the window near his bed, restless and anxious. "Sammy," Dean said, empathy filling him as he watched his brother's distress, "you need to get rest. For her. You need to stay sharp."

"I lost her, Dean," Sam whispered, pausing as he stared down at the motel carpet. "I lost her."

"You did your best. I know you did."

"I still lost her."

"We'll find her."

"Will we?" Sam asked incredulously, eyeing Dean. "I mean, how the hell can you sit there and say we'll find her when you had to put a bullet in her cousin's head? You honestly think he's going to keep her alive for shits and giggles?"

"You've got to keep hope, Sam," Dean replied firmly.

Sam shook his head. "By now, he's probably raped her and fed on her." He growled, his fist colliding with the wall, an impression left in the plaster.

"You've got to try. It's what she would want you to do."

Sam looked back over at Dean. "She would want the truth, Dean. And it is the truth. She's gone. And it's my fault."

He sat down on the mattress, his back to Dean as he hung his head, raking his fingers through his hair. Dean watched, pained as he tried to assess what to say, what to do. "I'll do everything we can, Sam. I promise you."

"Thanks," Sam managed, still hunched over.

Dean ran his hand over his face, watching Sam for a long moment before quietly getting into bed. Right now, there wasn't anything he could do, though. There wasn't anything left to say. Sam was right-the truth was pretty damn grim.

* * *

Dean woke early the next morning, not surprised that Sam was already dressed in his FBI suit they kept in the trunk of the Impala. His own was waiting for him on a hanger. Sam stared out of the window, wringing his hands.

"You're up early," Dean murmured, sitting up with a small groan.

"Didn't really sleep," Sam replied, keeping his focus on the view of the parking lot.

Dean dressed quickly, knowing Sam was anxious to get to the police station. He was too, though he knew it didn't compare to how Sam felt. It had been half of forever since he saw Sam so passionate about a woman, or really anything, for that matter. He wasn't a praying man and didn't expect it to be received, but he sent up one to Chuck on Sam's and Rachel's behalves anyway.

The brothers left their hotel room, Vance waiting outside. Sam didn't stop—he breezed by Vance without a second look, still bitter at the remark he made the night before. Guilt gnawed at him, stress compounding the hopeless situation he put himself in, and put her in. There was no way he could live with himself if Rachel wasn't found alive and unharmed.

The three drove in silence to the police station, Sam ahead of the pack as they parked and walked to the entrance. He barely waited for Dean to come to his side before he flashed his FBI badge. "Agent Elliott, Agent Russell," he said, ignoring Vance. "We need to speak with the Chief regarding utilizing your resources for an investigation."

The officer up front in the station let them in, Sam leading the charge to the Chief's office. Chief Denning's brow furrowed as he looked at the three. "Did Agent Markson withdraw from the investigation?"

"No," Sam replied, clearly upset but attempting to keep himself controlled. "She was kidnapped. And we need your office resources to identify this man she was last seen with. We have reason to believe it's the same man who took the other women."

Sam showed the Chief the picture from his phone. "We've got a couple resident digital artists," Chief Denning said as he looked at the screen. "They should be able to run facial recognition against this."

"Good. Where are they located?"

"Second floor, first door off the elevator to the left." The Chief eyed Sam. "I'm terribly sorry about Agent Markson. I'll have my men in it as well."

"Thanks," Sam offered, holding his gaze for a brief moment. His eyes flicked down to a picture on the Chief's desk, his brow arching subtly. "Your family?"

"Yep, that's all of us," the Chief replied with a smile. "At the family farm, not too farm from here."

"Is that your daughter?" Sam asked, pointing to a young girl with dark brown hair standing in front of a younger version of Chief Denning.

"It is. She was so small. That's from about … oh gosh, probably thirteen years ago." He laughed. "Probably the last time we all were in the same place at the same time."

Sam gave him a forced smile, then left the office. Dean was right behind him; Sam yanked him closer before Vance could catch up. "Gray was in the picture," he murmured to Dean.

"Are you sure?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded. "It's him."

"So if he's related to Gray—"

"Who's related to Gray?" Vance asked, stopping the two.

"Looks like the Chief is," Sam replied stiffly.

"Son of a bitch!"

"Easy," Dean urged with a glare. "Keep it down."

"Then he knows more than he's letting on."

"Maybe. Maybe not," Sam said. "Either way, it wouldn't hurt to run some background on the Chief."

"Sammy, you're better at that than me," Dean said gently as the elevator opened. They all stepped in, Dean hitting the second floor button. "Vance and I will run the scan. You go get on a computer and see what you can dig up."

Reluctantly, Sam nodded. He knew Dean's division was for the best, but he was consumed by finding Rachel. He didn't care about Chief Denning's relationship to James Gray. Still, it could be a valuable connection, and he wouldn't have to be near Vance.

They split off, Sam entering the computer lab at the far end of the hall. A short, stocky young man in a dated suit stood up as soon as Sam flashed his badge. "Chief Denning gave us permission to utilize your resources for an investigation," Sam explained. "I'm going to need a computer to run background checks."

"I can do that for you, if you'd like," the young man said eagerly.

"Thanks, but I'd rather run them myself."

The young man nodded, a little intimidated by Sam's stiffness. He led Sam to a computer in the rear of the lab, watching as Sam sat down. "Just, um, let me know if you need anything," he said, insanely curious about what Sam would look up.

"Thanks."

Sam waited until the young man left, quickly pulling up one of the unfiltered databases he used frequently on hunts. He plugged in the Chief's information, pulling up a family lineage chart. "Shit," he whispered as he clicked through, reading his file. James Gray was listed as not only the Chief's brother in law, but Gray's own wife, Denning's sister, was listed as deceased. And she fit Arioch's type to a T.

With renewed determination, Sam immediately texted Dean:

 **Gray is Chief Denning's brother in law. They have Gray's wife listed as deceased. She fits Arioch's type.**

Dean only took a minute to respond.

 **Then that means Denning worked with Arioch or at least knows something.**

Sam replied:

 **We need to grill him now. He's involved in this.**

Dean typed back:

 **Sammy, we can't bust into the Chief's office with cops all around. We need to get him alone.**

Sam clenched his jaw. He knew Dean was right. But time was of the essence:

 **How? We need to move on this now.**

Dean wrote back:

 **We call him up with a tip. Claim we tracked our suspect down to insider, and need to talk to him in private. Then we get the info we want out of him alone.**

Sam drew in a deep breath:

 **He's orchestrated this from the day Rachel walked into his office. I'm going to fucking kill him.**

Dean typed:

 **Easy, Sammy. We will get him. But we need to be smart.**

Sam nearly growled:

 **Fine. But I'm still killing the son of a bitch.**

* * *

Rachel's head throbbed as she woke, Sam laying next to her in bed. "Hey," he said gently. "How are you feeling?"

Memories of what happened before flashed through her mind's eye. She backed away from Sam, her pulse quickening. Sam's brow furrowed. "Baby girl, what's wrong?"

"You're … You're not him," she said, though she began to doubt herself as she saw the gentle familiarity of his eyes.

"Sweetheart, I know you've been having nightmares the last couple days," Sam said gently, taking her hand in his as they sat up. "But I'm real. I'm right here."

Rachel blinked heavily, focusing on Sam's vibrant eyes. He reached out and stroked her cheek with his free hand, his warmth soothing her. "Sam, I thought you were him," she whispered.

"Who?"

"... Arioch."

Sam examined her with empathy. "He would try to trick you like that. I'm so sorry, baby girl."

"But … You're not, right?"

He drew her to himself, his lips finding hers. She whimpered, the taste more than familiar. "Of course not. I'm me," he whispered when they parted. He cupped her cheeks, trapping her lips again and pulling her to her knees to sit her on his lap. Working his mouth over hers and across her cheek, he gently ran his hands up the sides of her waist, playing with the waistband of her shorts and dipping his thick fingers under it to feel her soft skin. "God, you're beautiful," he groaned as he attacked her neck.

Rachel slowly regained her senses as she realized she was still without a shirt, just like when the supposed "Sam" had tried to have sex with her before. This wasn't Sam either. Sure, he was more accurate version, but it couldn't have been him. He wouldn't have let her sleep like that. Her stomach churned, as if the removal of her layer also withdrew a mask over reality. A look at his chest confirmed her fears:

There was no tattoo.

Her heart froze as she felt Sam kissing down to her shoulder to her bra strap. She let him, knowing what she had to do in order to escape. Gently, she lifted his head back up for a kiss to his lips, drawing him close. With a sudden burst of strength, she dug her fingers into his eyes until she saw blood. Sam howled in pain and she bolted off the bed, grabbing the knob of the door and yanking it open.

Rachel fled into a dark, open space. She was no longer in the bunker, but somewhere she didn't know. Somewhere cold and damp, like a basement. Frantically, she searched for an exit, a window or a door that would lead outside. Her heart stopped when she saw a slice of daylight through cellar doors up a small flight of stairs.

"You think you can escape me, Rachel?" Sam's voice called from behind her, a maniacal laugh following. "I'd love to see you try."

She spotted a broken piece of pipe on the ground and grabbed it, the steel heavy in her hands as she ran for the door. Still, her body was thrown to the ground, and she screamed as she was dragged backwards on her stomach, clinging to the pipe for as long as she could, until it slipped from her fingers just as she stopped. Arioch rolled her over and yanked to stand, the man from the church looking down at her. His eyes were filled with blood, but slowly healing. Rachel's head throbbed as she struggled to free herself.

Arioch laughed. "You want him so badly," he whispered. "And I almost had you." Keeping her under a firm grip, Arioch yanked Rachel's hair down, forcing her to look up. "Now you can forget about this happening the easy way. I'll take you as many times as I need to, you little bitch. I was trying to be nice to you, but you don't deserve it."

With a firm kick to his groin, Rachel freed herself and fled, taking up the pipe a few feet away and swinging it madly at the man. She knocked him in the head, his body dropping to the ground. She kept hold of the pipe and fled for the stairs, banging the pipe against the doors until they burst open. Bright rays of sunlight blinded her eyes and she screamed, hoping someone-anyone-would hear her.

Barefoot and in a bra and shorts, Rachel ran to the road, realizing she was on the property of a large farmhouse pretty isolated from the rest of the town. She spotted houses in the very far distance and immediately headed for them.

Her efforts were in vain, though. Arioch drug Rachel back to the basement with his invisible power, the pipe rolling away from her hands as she clawed at the grass, trying to keep purchase. She screamed as her chin smacked against each of the wooden stairs on her way back down as he forced her back into the basement, throwing her across the room with his power and rendering her unconscious.


	18. Chapter 18

Sam paced the hotel room, waiting for Chief Denning. Dean was confident he'd show, and also confident that Vance would be pissed they interrogated him behind his back. Still, Sam didn't want Vance anywhere near it all. He explicitly told Dean he didn't trust him, so Dean managed to keep it secret, covering their time alone with further "research" as an excuse.

All Sam could think about was whatever torture Rachel was going through. It was enough to make him sick. He fled to the bathroom, easily vomiting what little he ate for breakfast. A chill ran down his spine as he rinsed his mouth out, Dean's concerned voice coming from the other side of the door. "Sam?"

"I'm fine," he managed, straightening. There would be more of that to come when he found Rachel's body, he was sure of it. He had spent the entire night before coming to grips with never seeing her alive again. Though he was the brother who usually kept hope for both of them, he had none now. It only made sense that someone as incredible as Rachel would die. They all died, or he had to kill them. It was a fate he couldn't escape, one he brought on her by being weak for her. Had he kept his distance, she would likely be alive. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he thought about the taste of her lips, the feel of her body, her beautiful eyes, her musical laugh. She was so young. She had so much life left. He had desperately wanted to share that life with her, to protect her from the evil that now held her. And he failed.

A knock on the room door grabbed his attention. He immediately left the bathroom, trying to downplay his eagerness as Dean answered the door. Chief Denning stepped in, seeming to be completely unaware of the trap he walked into, glancing to the brothers. "You said you have reason to believe this kidnapper has inside contact?" Denning asked, eyeing Dean as he shut the door.

"We do," Dean replied, keeping Denning's gaze. Sam slowly approached from behind as Dean ushered Denning to sit in the desk chair they put out for him, Dean standing in front of the bed across from him.

With a solid, quick grab, Sam held Denning's hands behind his back and slapped cuffs on him, linking his arms through the spindles of the chair. "What the hell!" Denning shouted, silencing when he saw Dean training a gun on him.

"Where is she?" Sam asked, venom dripping from his words.

"What are you talking about?" Denning asked back, a shake to his voice.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about." Sam grabbed Denning's graying hair, yanking his head back and resting a hunting knife blade against his throat. "Where is she?"

"P-Please!" Denning stuttered, "I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Rachel Lentz." Sam tightened his grip. "Where is she?" Denning was silent, so Sam dragged the knife against his throat, making the tiniest of knicks into his skin, a small stream of blood rolling down his neck. "Last chance before I start slicing," he warned.

"I swear to you, I don't know who Rachel Lentz is!" Denning shook, sweat breaking out on his brow.

"The woman who said she was Agent Markson," Sam snapped. "Where is she?"

"Okay!" Denning shivered as Sam kept the blade pressed to his throat. "She's … She's with him."

"Arioch," Dean concluded.

"Y-Yes."

"So you're working with him?"

"Yes ... but-"

"Where is he keeping her?"

"I'm not sure." Sam kept his hand in Denning's hair, making a small, clean slice on the side of his neck. "Shit!" Denning screamed.

"You're lying!"

"No, I'm not! Please!"

"Tell me where she is." Sam pressed the blade closer to Denning's throat, his jaw ticking as he gritted his teeth.

"I don't know," Denning whispered, eyes glassy. "Please. I don't know."

"You vetted women for Arioch," Dean spat to Denning, trying to get Sam to back off for a minute so they could get info. "Why?"

Denning swallowed, his body quivering. "He … He took my sister. My brother in law let him. I had him committed, which pissed Arioch off, because James worked for him. Arioch said he'd take my daughter if I didn't do as he wanted. It's the only reason he hasn't."

"So you buried the cases of missing women for him," Sam concluded behind him, still gripping the knife. "You helped him find his victims, and then made them go away."

"Please," Denning shivered, "I … I didn't have a choice."

"Where is he keeping her?" Sam asked again, nostrils flared.

"I have no clue! I just made the call when she got into town. I knew he'd like her." Sam lowered the knife, pausing for a moment before he decked Denning in the face. "Shit!" Sam landed another punch, satisfied when he saw the blood trickle down Denning's face from his nose.

"Where is she?" Sam growled.

"You compromised the nursery," Denning replied, sniffing back the blood. "So … He might be …"

"Where?!"

"At the farmhouse. It's rather isolated."

"Give me an address. Now."

* * *

Sam and Dean made sure they had Castiel with them when they went to the location. Neither were fond of Vance being there, but it would be a stronger fight of four against one. Sam didn't wait for anyone, though-he set the pace, charging for the farmhouse with an angel blade readied, quietly opening the door after listening for a moment. Dean followed him, angel blade in hand, while Castiel and Vance took up the rear, Vance carrying his gun.

They split off, Vance and Castiel taking the upper level while Sam and Dean took the first floor. The brothers wandered through the entire lower level of the house, each room desolate, empty. As he neared the outer edge of the study, Sam's stomach dropped when he heard a pained whimper. It was muffled, but most definitely present. He scanned the room quickly for where the sound came from, his eyes resting on an antique vent in the floorboards. He held up his hand to Dean as he approached it, stopping him as he focused on the sound.

It was a woman's voice, a quivered plea that barely rose above a whisper.

Sam turned to Dean, eyes wild. "Basement," he mouthed; Dean nodded, and they moved softly through the house until they came across the cellar entrance in the kitchen. Sam didn't hesitate—he immediately went for the basement, leaving Dean to round up the others.

Dean intercepted Castiel and Vance at the staircase, signalling them down to follow him into the basement. Only, neither Castiel nor Dean expected the blows they received to the head by Vance, who smirked as he left their unconscious forms on the floor, going into the basement and locking the door behind himself.

* * *

Sam swallowed as he examined the dank space. He tightened his grip on his angel blade, carefully moving into the part of the room where he heard the sound coming from. His stomach bottomed out when he saw Rachel tied to a support column, battered and bruised, half naked, and streaked with dirt. He rushed over to her, dropping the blade as he lifted her head to look into her eyes. They were shut. "Rachel," he breathed, finding a strong, steady pulse.

Her eyes flashed open and she screamed, drawing away from him. "Baby girl," Sam whispered, pained from the fear he saw in her eyes. "It's me. It's Sam."

She shook her head. "I know you're not him," she spat, gritting her teeth.

Sam drew in a sharp breath. Arioch must have tricked her before using him. "Look at my eyes, Rachel," he urged. "Look at me. I know you see me. I'm not a trick. It's me." Rachel didn't move. "Baby, please. I need to get you out of here. Please don't be afraid of me. I just want to bring you home and keep you safe."

She shook her head violently, denying his promises with a scream as he untied her. "Help me!" she screeched, her voice broken and sore from screaming so much.

Rachel froze when Sam drew her into his arms, holding her. "It's me. I swear it to you. You're safe now. I'm real." Sam squeezed his eyes shut when she screamed and pulled against him. "Rachel—"

The bullet that struck his shoulder was molten hot, the metal tearing into his flesh. Sam groaned, dropping to the ground and releasing Rachel. She looked up, seeing Vance smirking over Sam's injured body. "Vance," she shuddered, shocked at what he did.

"You should've listened to your boyfriend," Vance smirked. "Nephilim sex trafficking pays _really_ well. More than hunting." Vance stepped closer. "Arioch paid me a pretty penny to keep tabs on you after Dean finished off Hailey. Why do you think I all of a sudden called? Because I cared about you?" He laughed. "When Arioch told me his poison for the season, I knew you and Hailey would make nice meals."

Rachel's eyes rounded. "You son of a bitch." She backed away from Vance, watching as he kept his gun trained on Sam as Sam stood.

"So, time to make my bank. You come with me, or he dies," Vance ordered with a smirk.

"Rachel, run!" Sam urged desperately.

Vance shook his head. "Uh-uh. If you want your boyfriend to live, then you'll listen to me."

Rachel swallowed, looking at Sam. She wasn't even sure it was really him, but if it was, she couldn't let him die. "Okay," she whispered.

"Good girl," Vance smiled. "Come over here."

"Rachel, no! Let him shoot me! Run!" Sam growled, watching Rachel slowly move toward Vance. She didn't stop until she was in arm's length of Vance, who grabbed her wrist, keeping his gun on Sam. "I'll kill you, you bastard," Sam snarled.

"I'd like to see you try," Vance said, lifting his gun a little higher, ready to pull the trigger.

At the same time, the basement door rattled, Dean's angry growl muffled by the weathered wood. "Son of a bitch!" Finally, Dean kicked down the door, scurrying toward Vance. Before Vance could pull the trigger, Dean lodged his angel blade in his stomach through his back. Vance let go of Rachel and dropped his gun, blood pouring from the gaping wound as he fell over.

Rachel trembled as she watched Dean panting over Vance's body, a sizeable gouge on his head. Her eyes flicked up to see Castiel heal Sam, who shut his eyes in relief from the bullet wound. Sam immediately approached her, trying to be as gentle as he could through his urgency. "Trust me," he pleaded as she stepped back. "I'm not him."

She swallowed, her heart racing in her chest as she looked up at him. "Sam?"

Sam nodded, wetting his lips. "Yes, baby girl. It's me." He took her hand with a light, tender touch. "I'm going to take you home."

"Uh-uh, you're wrong, Winchester," a male voice boomed behind them. "The little whore is staying with me." Arioch strolled over to them in the same vessel from the church, giving Sam a wink. Rachel was ripped backward by Arioch, who held her firmly with a grin.

"Let her go," Sam warned, quickly picking up his angel blade.

"Go ahead, Sam," Arioch taunted. "Try and catch me."

As Sam went to lunge after Arioch, he was thrown back into the cold floor, skidding into a utility shelf. Arioch laughed as Dean tried, tossing him aside as well. Castiel used every ounce of power he had, but was still defeated by Arioch, who grabbed Vance's gun with his invisible power, aiming it at Sam. "Time to say goodbye, Rachel."

Rachel frantically looked around, spotting a threshing tool on the rack next to her. With every bit of strength she had, he kicked Arioch's vessel in the groin, freeing herself enough to grab the rusted blade off its hook and throw it into the vessel's stomach. The brief moment of pain was all Dean needed-he rushed over, closest to Arioch of the three, and shoved his angel blade into the vessel. Just before the blade sunk into the body, a burst of white lit the dark basement, swirling overhead. The body fell to the ground. Arioch had exorcised himself.

"Shit!" Sam growled, watching the swirl moving toward Rachel. "No!" He darted to her and tried to pull her away from the light, but it was too late. Arioch entered her body, taking hold of her vessel, her brown eyes flashing orange as she smirked at Sam.

"Hi, Sammy," she whispered with a smile.


	19. Chapter 19

"No," Sam shuddered in a pained whisper. "You son of a bitch."

"This isn't how I wanted to do things, but it works quite well," Arioch laughed in her voice. "I kind of love the position this puts you in, Sam Winchester."

Dean and Castiel watched with Sam as Arioch stalked around in Rachel's slender body. "Douchebag," Dean growled. "Can't even face a fair fight-has to rely on a real dick move."

Arioch laughed. "I won't be riled up by your measuring contest," he assured. "So, time to think of another strategy." He paused. "Oh wait, there is none." He blasted both Dean and Castiel back into the far walls, Dean rammed into a utility shelf, and Castiel a stack of wood.

Arioch grinned as they both remained down. He turned his attention back to Sam, whose hand trembled as he gripped his angel blade. Arioch stroked his bloodied arm. "Mmm. She's so soft. And she tastes so good." He paused, his grin spreading. " _All_ of her. I love the little sounds she makes when she's close to the edge."

Bile raced up Sam's throat at the thought of Arioch violating her. "I'm going to kill you."

"Really? Idle threats?" Arioch scoffed. "Like there's anything you can do to me without hurting her." Arioch blasted Sam backwards into the wall, and he groaned as his back smacked against the concrete, his body falling to the floor. "See, that's the beauty of it, Sam," Arioch said, slowly approaching him, "if you want to kill me, then you'll have to kill your little lovebug. Poetic justice, really. If I can't have her, then neither can you."

Castiel and Dean slowly stood, Castiel focusing his power toward Arioch, who laughed and deflected it back onto him and Dean, knocking them over. "As I was saying," Arioch said in Rachel's voice, "if you want to take me down, then you will have to kill her."

"Not if we exorcise your ass," Dean snarled, getting back to his feet. "Cas, get a suspension sigil made." Before Arioch could do anything, Castiel disappeared, leaving the two brothers with Arioch.

Arioch laughed. "Good luck. I don't believe you know an incantation strong enough for that, boys." He stepped closer to Sam, whose nostrils flared as he stood. "I can hear her pretty little thoughts right now, Sammy. Want to know what she's thinking about?" Sam remained silent, though every inch of him was screaming in rage. He felt his eyes tear, biting the inside of his cheek to hold it back. Arioch tilted his head. "She's begging you to put a blade into her to end me." He smirked. "She sounds so delicious when she begs for things."

"You're dead, you son of a bitch," Sam growled.

"Tell me, how does it feel to know that you either have to kill your lover, or let her be fucked by another man?"

Sam charged toward Arioch with a snarl, only to be blasted backward into the wall again. Arioch cackled, enjoying the game. "I would recommend that you make your choice now," he continued. "Even if Big Bro and pitiful Castiel make their little floor scribbles, I'll be released after a few moments. So you might want to decide if you're going to kill your girl, or you're going to let me feed on her from the inside."

Castiel blinked back into the room with the blood for the sigil, and the incantation. He quickly drew the symbols. "The sigil is done," he shouted, waiting on their cue to enact it.

"'Please, Sam,'" Arioch mocked Rachel's thoughts in her own voice, "'please kill him. Don't worry about me. Do it for Hailey. '" Arioch smiled. "Mmm. Hailey was quite delicious, but not nearly as good as Rachel is."

"Dean. Sam," Castiel said, panic in his voice as the brothers didn't move.

Sam's eyes clouded with tears, knuckles white around the hilt of the angel blade. "Do it," he said quietly to Castiel, keeping his focus on Arioch in Rachel's body.

"Sam—" Dean began.

"Do it!" Sam shouted, gritting his teeth together as he held back the gag from the thought.

Castiel enacted the sigil, freezing Arioch in place. Dean began to chant the exorcism text. It didn't work; the brothers exchanged a tiny scared look before returning their focus onto Arioch. There was only one option left.

Sam slowly approached Rachel's possessed body, his heart twisted and torn as he looked into her eyes. Dean stepped forward, taking his arm. "Sam, what are you doing?" he asked.

"What I have to," Sam whispered, stroking her cheek.

Dean's eyes rounded. "Sam, think about what you're saying. She can't recover from this. She will die."

Tears ran down Sam's face. "I promised her justice, Dean." He carefully took her into his arms as she vacantly stared at him. "I love you," he said to her softly, running his hand over her marred skin and through her dark, tangled waves. Despite the knots, it was midnight silk. He pressed his lips to her cheek, his mouth lingering near her skin.

"Sam," Dean said, trying to remain calm, "you can't—"

Dean and Castiel both were shocked as Sam lodged the angel blade into Rachel's stomach, holding her in his arm. His face was wet with tears as he watched her body light up from inside, a burst of red through the white signaling Arioch's death.

Sam ripped the blade from Rachel's stomach as she collapsed against him, dropping it and taking her into his arms as he sank onto the floor. He cried as he pushed his palm into her wound, trying to stop the blood.

Castiel rushed over, pressing against her head and concentrating his power, slowly binding the wound. When he was finished as far as he could go, he backed away as Sam felt for a pulse. "She's not breathing," Sam shouted, laying her down on the ground, immediately performing CPR. Through several attempts, she remained unresponsive, her body limp as he feverishly tried to urge it back to life. "Come on, baby girl," he begged. "Please. Please don't leave me."

Several painful minutes later, Dean knelt in front of him, pained as he watched. "Sammy," he whispered, stopping his brother with a hand on his shoulder. "She's gone."

Sam trembled, his hands covered in blood as he stripped his jacket off and wrapped her in it. He lifted Rachel's limp body into his arms, sobbing and burying his face into her shoulder and hair as he pressed her to himself. Dean clenched his jaw, Castiel squeezing his eyes shut as they stood next to him, helpless to ease Sam's devastation.

A shuddered gasp shocked all of them, Rachel's coughs violent against Sam's chest. He pulled her away, swiping the hair from her face, his lips parted as he watched her suck in air in deep pants. His fingers left trails of blood over her cheeks, his tears trickling down onto his coat around her. Dean's jaw dropped, he and Castiel in shock as they watched.

"Rachel," Sam breathed, shocked as she caught her breath. Sam's eyes widened as Rachel shoved away from him, backing away from him on the ground. "Baby girl, please. It's me. It's Sam."

"You're not him. I won't fall for it again. I'll die before I let you touch me, you bastard," she warned, obviously weak but trying to be strong as she backed away.

Sam stood, lifting his hands up, his face soaked from his tears. "Rachel, it's me. I know he tricked you, but it's me, I promise." She set her jaw, inching away from him. "It's over. He's gone. He won't hurt you anymore." He neared her, taking her into his arms as she screamed in protest. "Shh," he murmured, trapping her against his chest as she pounded against him, "you're safe. I'm not leaving you. I'm right here." He stroked her hair as she punched him. "I'm right here, sweetheart. You're not alone anymore."

Rachel stopped fighting, trembling as she stayed in Sam's secure embrace. "S-Sam," she managed, weakened and paled.

"It's okay, baby girl," he whispered, pressing kisses on her cheek and forehead. He stood, lifting her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. There was nothing-no one-that could take her from him in that moment. "I got you."

Rachel cried against his chest, burying her face into the material of Sam's jacket. She trembled, still worried Sam wasn't really him, still fearful she would realize that Arioch had, once again, tricked her. Arioch had come to her as Sam a total of four times, each one not ending well. She was fairly certain he had violated her at least once, though she wasn't entirely sure if it was in her head or an actual occurrence. Regardless, it was frightening to repeatedly experience the man you cared about hurting you, beating you, groping you, and trying to violate you, then to have him swear up and down he wouldn't. Still, she had to believe it was Sam. It was all she had to hold on to. She saw the tears in his eyes, the pain in his voice. Arioch had never once sounded or looked like that. It had to be her Sam.

Sam brought her up the stairs and out of the farmhouse to the Impala, carefully wrapping her in a blanket Dean gave him from the trunk. Sam managed to climb into the backseat with her in his arms, unwilling to let her go even for a moment. He guided Rachel to lay her head against his chest, her body between his thighs as he pressed his back to the side of the Imapala.

"I'm sorry," Rachel whispered.

Sam put his thumb over her lips, his arm tightening around her. "You don't have a damn thing to be sorry for," he whispered. "But I do." He shuddered. "I failed you."

Rachel shook her head, turning enough to look into his eyes. "No, Sam. You didn't."

"I couldn't protect you. I stabbed you. I killed you."

"You killed Arioch. Just like you promised."

Tears rolled down his cheeks. "I thought I lost you." He pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

Rachel's own tears fell. "He used you against me."

"I know," Sam murmured, kissing her forehead. "If I could keep killing him, I would."

* * *

After Sam got into the backseat, Dean shut the car door, brow creased as he looked at Rachel's condition from outside the window. She was obviously beaten, and heavily emotionally scarred. He prayed she hadn't been raped, that Arioch was merely taunting Sam, but there was no way to tell until she was taken to a hospital. He saw the initial tension she carried as Sam held her. Arioch had likely done a number on her, using her affection for Sam against her. He didn't know what it meant, other than they were in for a long road ahead.

"Dean," Castiel said softly, gaining his attention, "what about Vance?"

"We've got to get her medical care," Dean replied. "We have no idea what he did to her." Castiel nodded. Dean cleared his throat. "If Arioch … you know … could it be … aborted?"

Castiel drew in a deep breath. "Not without killing her. Not that I know of."

"The grace extractor?"

"It nearly killed Sam before. Maybe there is something in the archives, if it comes to that."

Dean swallowed. "Maybe."

"It would be more powerful than Arioch," Castiel noted solemnly.

"Would it automatically be evil?"

"Not necessarily. Look at Jack."

Dean's brow creased as he thought of the possibility. "Sam will be devastated if she's been …" He shut his eyes, drawing in a deep breath, ignoring the rest of his thought as he crossed in front of the Impala and slid into the driver's seat. He jammed his key into the ignition with a shaky hand and a sick stomach, spinning the Impala's wheels as he tore off as fast as he could from the farmhouse.


	20. Chapter 20

_**Trigger Warning: Non-Con Sex/Rape discussed**_

* * *

 **Saint Mary's Medical Center**

 **Lincoln, Nebraska**

Sam traced the path of the tubes with his eyes from Rachel's tiny hand to the IV pole next to her hospital bed for likely the hundredth time. It had been seven hours since Rachel was admitted to the hospital, and he hadn't left her side.

When they first arrived, Rachel became hysterical. No one knew what set her off, but the hospital administered a low dose sedative as Sam held her, enough medication for her petite body to become relaxed, and inducing a deep sleep she likely needed anyway.

He had watched them clean her, argued with every nurse and doctor who came into her room that he wasn't leaving, and kept hold of her hand, gently stroking the warm skin around the needles embedded into her veins. They had given her a course of antibiotics and fluids, taking her vitals every hour. He stayed through every exam, and even went with her while she was taken for CAT scans.

Sam would not be moved. His protective nature grew into a foreboding monster, a rabid guard dog waiting to attack anyone at any given second. He wouldn't be able to rest until she was home, until he knew she was safe. Even then, he knew true rest would elude him for a long time. Though Arioch was dead, he feared there was another grigori waiting to strike, or something else that would threaten to take her from him again. And he would die before he let that happen.

Dean gave a gentle knock on the door. "It's me, Sammy." Sam met his eyes as he peered in. "She still sleeping?" Sam nodded. "I got you coffee." Dean moved to his brother's side, resting the tall to-go cup on the table next to him. With concern, he examined Sam's eyes. They were bloodshot, tired, puffy. "Let me take over," Dean urged, resting his hand on Sam's shoulder. "Get some rest."

Sam shook his head. "I'm waiting for the test results." Deep down, he knew he would need to be relieved of his position eventually, and he more than trusted Dean to protect her, but he wouldn't leave until he knew Rachel's entire medical truth.

Arioch's taunting replayed over and over in his mind, the angel's suggestive words and tones making his blood boil, and his stomach sick. If Arioch raped her, Rachel would likely be pregnant with a nephilim. And if she was, there was no known way to abort one, or a way she would survive labor. She might not be pregnant, though—they'd have to wait at least six weeks from now to find out. For now, he could know if there were indicators of rape found after her exam. He didn't really want to know the truth, but at the same time, he couldn't rest until the results came.

All he could think about was what she would do if she was pregnant. He had no doubt in his mind that he would stay with her and look for every possible way to abort the child or help her survive labor. She was his. It didn't matter if she was carrying a nephilim. But, would she want to keep the baby? Would she want it gone? Would it be evil? Or like Jack? If she died, would he raise it as his own?

On top of her physical trauma, Sam knew Rachel had been deeply scarred emotionally. It killed him when she feared him. Arioch had tried to use her affection for him against her, to the point of pure terror and fear. Rachel wasn't fully back to him—he could tell that from their car ride together. She was guarding part of herself, as if she were too scared to fully trust him. He couldn't blame her, but it still hurt. Before, she had trust issues as it was. Now, she was likely a mess in her mind.

Sam's eyes flicked up from staring at Rachel's bruised face to the knock on the door. "It's Doctor Halloway," the voice said. Sam had instructed everyone to announce their presence before coming in. He watched carefully as the doctor slipped into the room, shutting the door behind himself. "Mister Winchester," he said gently, "we have the results of Rachel's exam." Sam watched in tense silence, his fingers still running over Rachel's hand as she slept. "Perhaps I should wait until she is awake."

"Tell me now," Sam demanded in a firm, but quiet tone.

Doctor Halloway cleared his throat. "It appears that during her kidnapping, Rachel sustained quite a bit of internal and external vaginal damage, such as bruising and tearing, consistent with rape."

Sam's heart stopped, his stomach bottoming out. He gritted his teeth together, unaware of Dean's hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

"We recovered a semen sample," the doctor continued, "and the DNA is currently being evaluated." He paused. "We are going to put her under once the sedative has worn off and stitch what we can, so Rachel will need strict bed rest for the next week or so."

Sam's knee bounced restlessly as he listened, his breath quickening. His free hand found his face, covering his mouth as he stared blankly at the white linens Rachel slept on.

"Once Rachel wakes, we will give her the option to take a birth prevention medication that has a high rate of success in terminating unwanted pregnancies. Regardless of what she chooses, she has the choice to utilize the hospital's psychology services, including support groups for PTSD, and sexual assault victims." The doctor examined Sam. "I'm terribly sorry this has happened to her, Mister Winchester."

Sam looked up at him, keeping his tears at bay. "Thank you," he managed.

"Of course. As her overseeing doctor, I will be relating the information to her directly as well. Just so we can get her into surgery as soon as possible, please let the nursing staff know when she wakes."

Sam gave the doctor a small nod, watching as he slipped quietly out of the room. His nostrils flared as he processed the news. Arioch had raped her. He had violated her, using his face to do it. No wonder she had feared him so much.

Tears rolled down his cheeks, his grip tightening around Rachel's hand. She was likely pregnant. All the drugs in the world wouldn't kill a nephilim. She would carry the bastard's child, just waiting to die if they couldn't find a way for her to live.

"Shit," Dean murmured, his fingers tightening around Sam's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Sam …" He paused, sighing. There was nothing he could say, nothing he could do to change things. The damage was clearly done.

"Any way you look at it, she dies," Sam said, fixing his eyes on Rachel. "If we try to kill the baby, she could die. If she carries it to term, she dies."

"Maybe she's not pregnant."

"I highly doubt a Watcher wouldn't be able to impregnate a woman, if that's fifty percent of their life purpose."

They were silent for a moment. "We will find a way to keep her safe," Dean resolved with a firm tone. "I swear it to you."

Both brothers froze as Rachel stirred, her eyes slowly blinking open, fixing on Sam. "Sam," she whispered as he stood, hovering over her.

Sam pressed his lips onto hers in a feather light kiss. "How are you feeling?" he asked, moving her hair away from her face.

"Tired," she replied. Her brow wrinkled as she looked into Sam's eyes. "Did they give me a sleeping pill or something?"

"Or something," Sam murmured, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"Why?"

"You were … You kinda freaked out. They had to sedate you to start treatments."

She looked down sheepishly. "Oh." Catching his creased expression, she looked into his eyes. "What's wrong?"

He forced a small smile. "Nothing. I'm just … I'm just glad you're okay."

"No," she argued. "You're hiding something." She looked to Dean, who immediately looked away. "Dean?" Rachel turned back to Sam. "Sam. Tell me."

"Dean, could you give us a minute?" Sam asked, keeping his eyes on Rachel's.

With a nod, Dean slipped out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him. Rachel watched Sam's jaw tick. Her heart sped up, the change reflected in her monitor she was attached to. "Sam. Please."

He stroked her face, minding the bruises around her chin and jaw. "The doctors examined you." Sam drew in a deep breath through his nose. "You … You were raped." A tear rolled down his cheek. "They found semen on you." Rachel quivered. Sam cupped her cheeks as he cried, wiping her stray tear. "I'm so sorry, baby. I failed you."

Rachel was quiet for a long moment, expressionless. "I had been hoping it was all in my mind," she finally said. She looked into Sam's eyes, brow wrinkled. "But Sam, you didn't fail me. This isn't your fault."

"It is."

"How could it be?"

"I …" He growled, his breath quickening. "I brought you near me. I was selfish. I wanted you so much, and I sealed your fate for you."

"You didn't—"

"It's a curse, Rachel," he interrupted. "The very few people I've dared to care about end up hurt or dead."

Rachel pressed her index finger over Sam's mouth. "This is not your fault," she said firmly.

"Sure as hell feels like it."

"It isn't," she insisted. She ran her fingers over his face to wipe his tears, brushing his hair from his brow. "Sam, do you know if I am …?"

He shook his head. "Nephilim gestation is shorter by three months, but there's still no way to know right now."

She nodded, paling as she processed the information. Sam leaned in closer, his nose brushing hers as he held her head. "Baby girl. You listen to me. There are two things you should never forget." His breath flowed over her, warm and sweet. "One, I love you. You're mine, and I'm not leaving you. And two, I'll do everything I can to keep you safe."

" … You love me?" she whispered.

Sam swallowed, not realizing it was the first time she heard it. He had said it before he stabbed her, but she didn't hear him. He nodded, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes. "I love you. Like crazy." He offered her a small smile, relieved when she gave him one back.

"I love you too," she said, stroking his stubbled cheek. She accepted Sam's kiss, immediately knowing it was truly him. She could feel his heart in the way he held her, and see it in the way he smiled.

"No matter what," Sam reminded her when they separated, "you're mine. And nothing changes that." Rachel nodded, leaning into his touch as his thumbs ran over her face.

"Will it be evil, if I am pregnant?"

"There's no way to know. It might. It might not."

"Will I die in labor?"

Sam paused, wetting his lips. "I'm going to find a way to keep you safe." He pressed a kiss on her forehead, taking her hand into his. "We are in this together, okay?"

"Okay," she managed.

"They have to stitch you, baby girl," he said quietly, struggling with the words. "I'll be right there when you wake up, okay?" She nodded, clinging to his hand.

Sam turned to the knock on the door. "It's Doctor Halloway." The doctor entered the room quietly, his eyes falling on Rachel. "I'm going to guess by the look on your face that your boyfriend told you the results." She nodded. Doctor Halloway sighed. "I'm terribly sorry, Rachel. We're going to need to do surgery to repair some of the damage. We also would like to give you the option to take a preventative medication in the event of unwanted pregnancy."

"Okay," Rachel replied softly. She tightened around Sam's hand. "Can Sam come?"

Doctor Halloway shook his head. "I'm afraid not. It won't take long, though."

The remainder of the nursing staff entered the room, ready to wheel her to surgery. Sam turned back to Rachel, cupping her cheek with his free hand as the other held hers. "I'll see you when you get up, okay?" He kissed her, holding back the soft moan in his throat from the pleasure of her taste and the pain of seeing her as she was. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, Sam watched them wheel Rachel away, his hand running over his face as Dean came back into the room. He was painfully still and silent as his brother approached. "How, Dean?" he whispered. "How am I going to see her through this?"

Dean blinked hard, staring at the direction Sam did. "No matter what happens, just love her," he concluded with a small nod. "Just keep loving her."


	21. Chapter 21

Rachel was discharged the next day, Doctor Halloway more than happy about the results of her surgery. He expected her to recover quickly. Still, Doctor Aster, the resident psychologist, haunted Sam hours after he gave him a warning in confidence:

 _"Mister Winchester, I would advise you to be mindful of Rachel's emotional state regarding intimacy. Though she may heal quickly physically, she is likely to sustain mental damage far longer, if not for the rest of her life. Let her set the pace."_

 _Sam nodded. "I understand."_

 _"The best thing you can do initially is to give her enough space to process things on her own. At the same time, you need to make yourself available for support. It's inevitable that Rachel will regress during this first week, so please be aware that anything can trigger it, even something seemingly insignificant. If she does regress, give her the space to work through that emotion. Don't try to force her to cope sooner than she can."_

What Doctor Aster could never understand is how much harder Rachel's recovery would be, when the face of her assailant also belonged to her boyfriend.

When they initially got back to the bunker, Sam had begun shifting everything she had back in his room from the guest room while she napped, careful not to wake her. Still, now just finishing the task, he could tell she was sleeping far lighter without the aid of the sedative they had given her. A sheen of sweat broke out over his hands as he stopped moving her clothes, watching her writhe in bed as she murmured.

"Baby," he whispered, moving to the bedside, pained as he saw her wrinkled face, and heard his name on her lips in the midst of her nightmare. "Baby, wake up."

All it took was a brush of his hand on hers. Rachel screamed, bolting from the bed with a cry of pain against her sore stitches. "Easy," Sam urged, crouching down next to her.

His heart stopped when she looked at him and paled. "Don't touch me!" she shouted, grimacing in pain as tried to scramble away.

"No! Rachel, it's me!" Sam begged, which only made her more hysterical. He panicked, trying to hold her still to avoid her damaging her stitches. Still, she fought him with violent screams, nearly crawling off the bed to get away from him.

Dean was out getting food, so it was only Cas left to help. "Cas!" Sam shouted desperately. Castiel blinked into the room, brow arched as he looked to Rachel. "Please, Cas," Sam begged. "Please help her rest."

Castiel moved to Rachel, gently touching her forehead and putting her to sleep. He held her limp body, remaining respectful as he laid her back in bed. Sam pulled up the blankets over her, devastated. It hadn't even been a couple hours, and she was already terrified of him.

"Fuck," Sam growled, bolting out of the room. He punched the wall outside of his room, hunched over as shook, tears falling freely. He felt Castiel's presence next to him. "Cas, I can't. I can't do this."

"She will come back to you," Castiel insisted. "Give her time."

"In the meantime, she will hurt herself if I'm in there." Sam looked to him. He wanted so badly to take care of her, but she clearly wasn't ready for that. "Can you … Can you help her, but take away the memories? I don't want her to feel awkward if you help her … get to the bathroom for ..."

Castiel nodded. He knew what Sam was implying. "I can," he replied.

Sam's jaw flexed as he ground his molars together. "Thank you." He looked back to his room. "I'll just ask that you can bring her her meals that I'll make, help her to the bathroom if she needs it, and put her to sleep every night. I'll sleep on a chair in her room. At least she can get a solid night's rest that way."

"Sam," Castiel said gently, seeing his distress, "whatever she may experience in her mind, this is not your fault. And she knows that."

Sam shut his eyes, shaking his head. "Not yet she doesn't."

* * *

 **Nineteen Days Later**

 **Lebanon, Kansas**

Castiel rested the bowl of chicken soup on the tray table next to Sam's bed as Rachel pushed herself to sit up. "Hey," he chided, "you aren't supposed to be doing that." He took her under her armpits, easily lifting her to sit up as he adjusted her pillow behind her back.

"I'm fine," she insisted. "Honest. I feel fine. No pain."

"Sam is adamant about bed rest."

"Doctor Halloway wanted at least a week, and we are almost at three." She sighed as Castiel rested the bed tray in her lap. "I feel bad."

"For what?"

"For you having to do this."

Castiel sat carefully on the edge of the mattress to avoid shaking the tray too much. "It's not a burden to me," he assured her.

"Cas, why won't he even come in here?" she asked, knowing how desperate she sounded but not really caring.

"You weren't able to be near him—"

"I wasn't," she emphasized. "I am now."

Even Rachel had to admit Sam had been wise to stay away in the beginning. Sam operated like a ghost, sneaking into the room for whatever he needed while she slept. After noticing the red armchair from the library in the corner of the room, Rachel managed to get the truth out of Castiel about Sam sleeping on it. She was bitter at first to learn Sam had the angel put her to sleep every night, but she came to realize that her healing progressed much faster with the angel's touch and she benefited from the reliable, steady rest. In fact, Rachel was fairly certain Castiel had healed her completely within a day, but Sam apparently would not be moved regarding the time table, and Castiel wasn't one to interfere.

Once she adjusted her brain between truth and circumstance, Rachel had been stable, ready to see Sam. That was over a week ago. Still, though Castiel related the message, he refused to come into the room when she was awake, and it dug at her further each day that passed. "Didn't you tell him I was okay?" she asked.

Castiel nodded. "Just like yesterday and the day before that." He gestured to the soup. "You should eat."

"Yeah. Wouldn't want to piss off the Giant," she muttered. She ate the soup, impressed with how good it was. Sam had cooked every meal for her every day, only resorting to pizza once in nearly three weeks from what she guessed was sheer exhaustion. Before everything happened, she would've been impressed with one home cooked meal. Now, she was kind of wishing Dean would bring her a bacon burger in secret. Sam's protectiveness had turned him into a distant, yet overbearing monster. Though she loved him, it was wearing thin.

With a deep breath, Rachel finished the soup and handed her tray to Castiel. She slung her legs over the side of the bed, standing. "Well, if he won't see me, I'll go see him," she decided.

Castiel's blue eyes widened. "Rachel, I don't think that's a good idea."

Her brow arched. "And why not?"

Though he towered over her, Castiel was obviously intimidated. "Because Sam, um, said you should, um …" Castiel gulped as Rachel passed by him, heading toward the door. "Oh no."

The door creaked open just before Rachel could leave, Sam's brow arching when he saw her standing. "What are you doing out of bed?" he asked gruffly, eyes rounded as he approached her.

Rachel sighed, hands on her hips. "Hi, Sam, nice to see you too … for the first time in three weeks."

"I'm going to go," Castiel said with a wince, quickly leaving.

Rachel narrowed her eyes at Sam, whose jaw ticked as he looked her over. "So, I guess this is where I ask you where the hell you've been."

"Here," he replied stiffly, avoiding her eyes. "I've been here with you."

"Not with me," she corrected. "Nearby, across from, somewhere in the vicinity, but not with." She stepped closer to him, seeing the heavy dark circles under his eyes. Though she had been sleeping well, he obviously hadn't. His skin lacked his usual color, his eyes their typical spark. He had worried down to a shell of himself, and it was painful to see. "I'm fine, Sam," she reminded him, her tone gentler. "I feel fine. I really do."

"I just want to make sure you heal."

"I healed weeks ago."

"All of you."

She looked away, shutting her eyes. "I won't heal that fast," she said. "But it doesn't mean you need to avoid me still."

"I'm not avoiding you," Sam insisted, stepping closer.

"Then lay with me," she challenged.

His eyes seemed to darken a bit as he examined her. "I want to."

"So get in."

With a subtle curl on his lips, he kicked off his boots and climbed into bed with her, holding her possessively as she laid next to him. "Goddamn, I missed this," Sam murmured, nuzzling her hair, ready to cry from relief of finally touching her again.

"Me too," Rachel agreed, inhaling his comforting scent as she buried her face in the soft flannel of his plaid shirt. "Sleep with me tonight?"

He knew she meant just in bed, but the idea of being so close to her was almost more than he could bear. For three weeks, he wanted her badly. Even after she initially feared him, he wanted nothing more than to hold her and kiss her. He wanted to nurture her, to erase the horrid memory of Arioch hurting her and replace it with worship of her body, of her heart. It was dirty, selfish, and given all she had been through, he felt like an ass for even having the thoughts. "You won't hurt me by sleeping," she promised.

Sam sighed. His back was more than stiff from nearly three weeks of his six foot four inch frame sleeping on the armchair. Her small, warm body pressed against his, her hands roaming over his chest and shoulders. She smelled divine. His lips found her forehead, kissing her with a swallowed groan. She tasted so damn good, so creamy and soft. His fingers slipped up the hem of her Yankees sweatshirt as they coasted over the curve of her backside clad in impossibly tight yoga pants. He wanted to devour her, to lock himself in his room and make love to her for days until she was screaming his name out of pleasure rather than fear.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he pulled away, angry as he felt himself lose control. He couldn't undo her progress. He couldn't trigger her. She needed space, Doctor Aster said. She needed time-it didn't matter that he desperately needed her. "I can't," he said, pained as he slid out of bed and stood. He ran a hand through his hair, clearing his throat. He had half a mind to say "fuck it" to the doctor's advice and just take his chances, but he couldn't be that selfish.

"Sam—"

"Rachel, I can't," he repeated. "You … I don't … I can't … You need to rest."

Rachel watched as Sam picked up the bed tray Castiel left, keeping his focus on it through a pause. She prayed maybe he had changed his mind, or was in the process. Still, he silently left, clicking the door shut behind himself.

Her heart sank, tears filling her eyes. She knew what his avoidance meant—he was no longer attracted to her. Sam was a good man. His caretaking, sweet-mannered, gentle giant routine was just charity, as it probably was the whole time. Maybe before she filled a void for him, but after being raped, and now possibly pregnant, Sam was no longer interested. She couldn't blame him—she was damaged goods, a burden, an unexpected weight for the brothers to carry. Because they had kind hearts, she was living here. Still, there were plenty of other whole, untainted women that would throw themselves at the chance to be with Sam. And it was just as well. If she was pregnant, she had no right to burden him with it. The child wasn't even his. Separating herself from the brothers was the best thing to do. She would find somewhere else to live.

Rachel sat up, climbing out of bed and looking to her duffel bag, then to her phone. There were a handful of hunters she could take shelter with temporarily, until she figured things out. Most of them were men who would likely want to get a favor or two in return. There was one woman, though, that she had met a few months ago. Jody Mills. She had taken in a few wayward girls before. Rachel was much older than them, but it was at least somewhere to go, somewhere to be. After all, Jody said to call or text if she needed anything. And she certainly did now.

She took out her phone, sitting on the edge of the bed and typing out a new message:

 **This feels really awkward, but I don't know who else to turn to. If there is room for me, I would like to work for my place at your house. It would only be temporary. If there's no room, or you just don't want to, please don't be afraid to say no.**

Rachel sent the message, shutting her eyes. It wasn't the whole truth, but the "I may be pregnant with an evil angel's bastard child" thing could wait.

She waited a few moments, but no response came. With a sigh, she set the phone down on her night stand, picking up her glasses. Sam had bought her a new pair after hers had been broken when she was kidnapped. She slipped them on, focusing on Sam's small decorative details in his room. Standing, she crossed to a picture on the shelf across from her, lifting it up and examining it. Sam, Dean, and their mom Mary looked back at her with wide smiles, a recent selfie capturing an incredible joy of reunion.

Her phone pinged, and she grabbed it, opening the reply from Jody:

 **Of course, sweetheart. Do you have a way to get here? Are you still in Illinois?**

Rachel typed out a quick reply:

 **I'll find a way. Not in Illinois.**

Jody seemed curious:

 **Where are you? I can meet you there.**

Rachel drew in a deep breath:

 **Kansas**

Jody replied:

 **I have friends there. The Winchester boys. They are good people. They can get you here.**

Squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, Rachel typed back:

 **I don't want to bother them. I'll find my way. I will see you in a couple days.**


	22. Chapter 22

Sam paced in the maps room, angrily tearing at his hair. "Why, dammit?" he snarled. "Why do I have to want her so much?"

"Because you care about her," Castiel concluded nonchalantly.

"I'm such a pig."

Castiel pursed his lips in thought. "It's very normal human nature, Sam."

Sam ran a hand over his face. "Cas, I have no right to my desire with the level of evil she went through."

"Did you tell her your dilemma?"

"What do you think?" Sam scoffed. "How could I tell the woman I love—the woman who was raped by 'me'—that I want to be intimate with her? How can I possibly be near her without her feeling pressured to do something? That's the last thing I want. I don't want her to regress."

Dean opened the bunker door, a white fast food bag in hand. Sam glared up at him. "Really, Dean? The fridge full of food that won't kill you wasn't good enough?"

"Look, Martha Stewart," Dean began, holding up a hand. "While no one appreciates a free meal like me, I've been dying for something that isn't even remotely healthy-something proven to cause heart attacks that's stuffed with nitrates, sodium, and preservatives. After all, modern man cannot survive on rabbit food alone."

He walked into the adjoining kitchen and tossed the burger bag on the table, Sam growling as he followed to snag another beer out of the fridge. "What's up with him? It's just burgers," Dean asked Castiel.

"He and Rachel are fighting," Castiel replied.

Dean's brow shot up. "You mean he actually _saw_ her?" he asked sarcastically, looking over at Sam slumped at the table.

"Shut up, Dean," Sam snapped, taking a long pull of beer.

"Well, it wouldn't kill you to, I don't know, spend time with your _girlfriend_ that you _live_ with once in a while."

"I will. When she's better."

Dean looked at Castiel. "Give us a minute, Cas." When Castiel blinked out of sight, he focused on Sam. "Sam. It's been three weeks."

"I'm aware."

"So, what the hell is wrong with you? Why are you avoiding her like the plague?"

"I'm not avoiding her."

"Yeah. Okay."

Sam sighed. "I want her too much. And I feel like I would trigger her just by wanting to nurture her."

"When are you planning on trusting her judgment?"

"I do trust her judgment. It's me I don't trust."

"She's giving you the green light. Hell, she's been giving you the green light for over a week."

Sam drank a little beer. "I just … I mean, how could she be okay with me so close to her when it was my face she saw while she was ...?" He sniffed and looked away, unable to finish his sentence. "I'm barely okay with it."

"Because it wasn't _you_ ," Dean replied gently, sitting next to his brother. "You've got to let that guilt go. You've got no reason to hold onto it. It wasn't you."

"Does _she_ know that, though?"

"I'm sure she does."

"What if she doesn't?"

"Is that why you haven't spoken to her in three weeks?"

Sam sighed, thinking about how good she felt only moments ago. "I don't want to upset her."

"Dude. What did I tell you to do? Keep loving her, remember?"

"I do love her."

"Then show her," Dean concluded, grabbing a cookie from the plate on the table. "And you know I'm serious, because all you've been doing for weeks is cooking and baking, and hell, it's been great." He bit into the cookie with a satisfied sigh. " _And_ you've even used real butter and sugar the last couple days. But, it's time to get in that room and show her you're not him."

Sam inhaled deeply, drinking some more. "Then don't complain when we come out of my room," he warned after a long moment with a hint of a smile.

"Shit, I'd rather see your naked ass nailing her on the maps table than you being scared of your own shadow."

"So eloquent."

Dean shrugged. "It's the truth."

Sam smirked, a devilish glint to his eyes. "What about in the Impala?"

"You leave Baby out of this," Dean warned with a mouthful, sobering quickly.

"I do have a bet to cash in on," Sam shrugged.

"For fuck sake, it better not involve my Baby and anyone's bare asses."

"Not really bare, per say."

"No." Dean shook a cookie at Sam after snagging it from the plate. "No sex in my car, unless it's me having the sex."

Sam stood, a sly grin on his face. "Might be too late for that," he said, strolling off to his room.

"It better not be," Dean growled. "If you did the horizontal tango in my Baby, I'll kill you."

Sam knew his laugh only further irritated Dean, ignoring his brother's shouting behind him. He made his way to his room, drawing in a deep breath before knocking gently on the door.

"Come in," Rachel murmured. Sam slipped inside, quietly shutting the door behind himself. "What vitamins does he want me to eat now?" she asked, assuming it was Castiel. She kept her back to him as she stuffed her duffel bag. "Or is it medicine I don't need?" She sighed. "Probably both, knowing Sam. Surprised he hasn't made you purify the air with an ancient spell or something by now."

"What are you doing?" Sam asked.

Rachel turned, surprised to see him, and also a little embarrassed at being so candid. "Nothing."

His brow arched as he stepped closer. "I just unpacked that bag."

"I … was trying to organize things. You know, to pass the time. Alone."

"Rachel—"

"Look," Rachel sighed, "I appreciate your kindness, but I _never_ wanted to do this to either of you. Especially you. I really am grateful for what you've done for me, but I … I can't do this."

Sam's brows couldn't squish together any harder, his heart racing as he tried to understand what Rachel meant. "Baby, what … What are you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about, Sam. I care about you. I do. I just can't let you keep doing this to yourself. It's not fair. And the sooner you admit it to me, the better."

"... Doing what? Admit what—"

She gestured between them. "This, Sam!"

"Rachel—"

"Please," she whispered, silencing him with a hand held up. "I haven't been in your exact position before, but after my first experience with it, I get it. It was hard to get past for Chris and Alex too. It's not something you should have to worry about or deal with."

Sam's large hand grabbed Rachel's arm as she attempted to pass by him. "Hold it," he said, pulling her toward himself. "If you're implying that I'm no longer interested in you because of what happened, you're painfully wrong."

"Am I?" Rachel asked.

"Yes, you are."

"I'm not. And it's okay."

She tried to walk away, but he kept his grip on her. "What do you mean, your first experience with it?" he asked.

Rachel looked down, rotating her wrist in Sam's firm grip. "I was raped when I was fifteen by three boys from my parent's church. Boys I knew. I was a virgin. That's why I can't deal with churches like the one we went to."

Sam's stomach sank as he looked down at her. "Shit," he whispered, his face drawn in pain. He let her wrist go purely from shock, watching her as she took a few steps away. "Rachel. I …"

"It's okay," she said, rolling her shoulder as she turned away from him. "Like I said, I get it." She drew in a deep breath. "I should go."

"Rachel, stop," Sam ordered, halting her as she moved to open the door. He moved in behind her. "First of all, look at me." His tone was undeniably commanding, but somehow still gentle. He searched her eyes when she turned to him. "Second, I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you. Third, if I knew their names, they'd be dead in five minutes. Fourth …" He swallowed. "I have been avoiding you because … because I don't want to trigger you."

"Then I don't want to do this to you by being here," she concluded. "It's not fair to you."

"Do what to me?"

"Be a burden."

"The absolute last thing you are to me is a burden."

"Not if you're unhappy." She shook her head, trying to pull away.

"Stop it," he argued in a darkened tone.

"Then why won't you stay with me?" she challenged. "If you were still interested, you'd be in here instead of out there."

Sam's cell phone rang. With hesitation, he let go of Rachel and answered it, his voice a bit gruff. "What?" He paused. "Dammit, I'm sorry, Jody. … Yeah. Bit of a bad moment. … No, go on, what's up?" Sam's brow creased. "Oh yeah? What's her name? … Rachel Lentz." He looked down at her. "… Mm-hm. … I bet she is. … Jody, I … Yeah. I'm sure she is." He turned away, feeling his cheeks heat up. If Jody only knew. "... Uh-huh. So, she needs a ride." Rachel's heart stopped as she saw the anger in Sam's eyes when he turned back to her. "Let me talk to Dean, and I'll call you back," Sam said. "... You too, Jody. Talk soon."

He hung up the phone, drawing in a deep breath through his nose. "Running away?" he asked.

"Sam—"

"So, that's it? You're just going to hide?"

"First off, I'm _not_ , but you're certainly one to talk about hiding!"

Sam's eyes tightened. "I _wasn't_ hiding."

"And neither am I."

"Then why are you going?"

"You don't need me here. Neither does Dean. Not even Cas. I'll stay with Jody until I can figure things out. The end."

Despite his fear of her regressing, Sam leaned into the dominant side of his nature. "No. You're not leaving."

"Yes, I am. This … Us … I'm toxic for you. All I will do is make you worry. And you'll deny it, but it's the truth. Let's face it: When we met, I was a hunter. Now, I'm a liability."

"Rachel—"

"You're not going to change my mind, Sam. I know what's best for everyone, and this is it." She paused, swallowing back the pain. "And it's my choice to stay here or not, remember?"

Sam stared down at her, gritting his teeth together. With Arioch gone, there was no reason Rachel couldn't leave the bunker if she wanted to. He thought she would stay for their relationship, but that had been damaged for a while now, obviously enough by him to drive her away. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't force her to stay. It was her choice—it always had been.

Without a word, Sam left, slamming the door on his way out. His hands trembled at his sides, his stomach sick. He stormed into the maps room, grabbing a random book on the table and throwing it against the wall. "Son of a bitch!" he shouted, more than heated.

Dean came into the room, concerned as he looked at Sam storming around. "I'd like to bring that fucker back from The Empty just so I could kill him again!" Sam snarled.

"Sam?" Dean asked gently.

Sam turned to his brother, eyes glassy. "She wants out. So …" He shrugged, his hand running over his mouth. "She's planning to stay with Jody until she 'figures things out.'"

Dean's brow furrowed as he processed Sam's news. "She still isn't safe, if she's pregnant."

"I know. Try telling her that. But what am I going to do, lock her in the dungeon?"

"It's not a bad idea."

Sam ignored Dean's comment. "I told her the truth, told her I wanted her to stay, told her I loved her, but she's leaving." He flopped into a chair, burying his head in his hands. "I wish I could kill that fucking grigori twenty times over."

Dean moved over to the space across the table from Sam, angry instead of empathetic. "You need to fight for her. You've been pissing around on the sidelines for weeks now. If you let her go, you'll lose her forever. I hope you know that."

"Sam?"

Both brothers turned to Rachel's soft voice as she timidly stepped toward them. Sam's eyes raked over her, his chest tightening as he took in her form in skinny jeans, boots, and one his plaid shirts hanging loosely over a tight camisole, focusing on the duffel bag slung over her shoulder. "A car is, um, picking me up for the bus in a few minutes. But … can we talk?" she asked.

Dean cleared his throat, backing out of the room with a small nod. Sam stood; he couldn't take his eyes off of her, pained as he drank her in. She rested her bag on the floor and stepped up in front of him, reaching out and stroking his cheek. "Things can never go backward, as much as I want them to," she began, tracing over his stubble. "I … I wish we could erase all this. But we can't. And I can't see how it's fair to you to keep you in this mess. You deserve an uncomplicated woman."

"I want you," Sam replied, taking her by the waist and drawing her to himself with a rough pull. He ran his hand up to sink into her thick waves, the other gripping her backside. "I just want you. That's all that matters to me."

"Sam, I was broken when you first met me. Now I'm even messier."

His face was somewhere between angry and determined as he pulled her toward the table. "I'm the King of Baggage. We have issues-so what? I don't give a shit. We will work through it. But you're not running away from me." His inky tone sent a shiver up her spine. "I swear it to you, Rachel, if it takes me the rest of my damn life to drill it into you, I will. I _don't_ want someone else. I. Want. You." She tried to shy away from him, but he held her in place. He shook his head, his thumbs running over her cheeks. "I love you. And I'll be damned if you try to shove me into someone else's arms." His jaw ticked as he examined her. "You're _mine_ , remember? Mine. You're not going anywhere. And neither am I."

"I am going, Sam," Rachel said. "I know that this is best, even if you don't think it is. You need to focus on your mom and Jack, not on me and a problem that isn't yours. And certainly not on one you're wrongfully blaming yourself for."

"How can I focus on them when I'll be worried sick about you? When I'll miss you and want you here?" He tightened his grip. "Call off the ride."

Her eyes clouded with tears. "Please don't, Sam," she whispered. "I can't stay. I was never meant to. All you and Dean and Cas have done for me … I can never thank you enough. But you need to let me go. You have more important things to do than to worry about me."

"I can't. I won't." Sam pressed his lips onto Rachel's, swallowing her whimpered call of his name. His gentle, but commanding touch was soothing, familiar. His quiet control brought undeniable warmth. She drank it in, closing her eyes as Sam's mouth descended down her neck and to the juncture of her shoulder. "I won't let you go," he rasped, pressing her against himself, "because you're mine."

Rachel pushed out of Sam's grip, tears escaping. He swallowed, his heart twisting as he realized she was determined, not to be moved. "Baby girl," he breathed, "stay. Stay with me."

A car horn sounded outside, faintly heard through the front door of the bunker. Sam's pulse raced, and he grabbed her arms as she moved for her bag. "Rachel, please," he pleaded. "Let me care for you."

"I love you, Sam," she said, her breath shaky as she slipped out of his grip. "Please tell Dean and Cas I said goodbye."

Sam felt glued to the floor as he watched Rachel pick up her bag. She pressed a kiss to his cheek. "You're a good man," she whispered. "You deserve the best."

His stomach wrenched as he watched her walk up the stairs, then quietly slip outside and shut the door behind herself.

"She left?" Dean shouted incredulously as he came back in after hearing the door close, eyes wide as he looked at Sam. "Dude! Go after her!"

Sam wet his lips, shaking his head. "I can't, Dean. It's what she wants."

Dean scoffed, clearly upset. "Son of a bitch, Sam. She was perfect for you. And you let her walk away."

"What the hell was I supposed to do?" Sam shot back. "I begged. I pleaded. She wants to go. So …" He bit his bottom lip, turning away from Dean. "So whatever."

Dean shook his head. "Unbelievable."

"And what do you think I could've done to change her mind?" Sam challenged, pulse racing. "Huh? What magic thing did I leave out?"

"I don't know, Sam, but you let her walk out that door," Dean replied, eyeing his brother. "So when you're sulking around here, hating life because you lost an incredible girl, you remember that _you_ let her go. Alright? Because I'll be damned if I let you get off easy on this one." Dean stepped up closer. "She left _because_ of you. Because you were too afraid to care for her. She probably spent weeks in that room thinking she was a burden from how you treated her."

"Don't you dare," Sam warned, closing the gap, nostrils flared. "I did everything I could for her."

"Did you?" Dean shot back. "Did you talk to her? Did you tell her you loved her, no matter what? Or did you save that for when she was already convinced you didn't give a shit? Because, as I recall, you had Cas do everything for you."

Sam's fist knocked with quick strength across Dean's jaw, his eyes wild as he punched his brother. Dean laughed, spitting out the blood from this cut lip onto the floor. "Go ahead," he challenged. "Take another shot, Sammy. I'll let you have one more out of pity for your stupid, sorry ass."

With an angry shove, Sam pushed the table away from himself, knocking over a chair as he stormed back to his room. Dean growled as he kicked the chair, sliding it further away from the table as he tore off in the opposite direction, cursing Sam under his breath.


	23. Chapter 23

**Two Days Later**  
 **Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

Rachel drew in a deep breath before knocking on Jody's front door, swallowing when a young woman with long dark hair answered. "Hi," she said softly, "I, um … Jody is-"

"You must be Rachel." The young woman ushered her in; Rachel stepped into the house, a sense of warmth flowing over her as she shut the door. "I'm Alex," Alex Jones said, turning to Rachel with a bright smile. "Jody will be psyched you're here. She's in the kitchen. Come on. You can leave your bag here."

Setting her bag by the stairs, Rachel followed Alex into the kitchen, her stomach growling as she smelled the delicious scents wafting through the air the closer they got. "Look what I found," Alex teased to Jody, whose back was turned as they entered.

Jody spun around, a wide smile on her face. "I'm so glad you made it here okay," she said, setting her spoon down and wrapping Rachel in a hug. Jody's embrace was more than needed after a day on a bus, and a night alone in a crappy motel. Rachel didn't realize she was crying until she saw Jody's face change when she pulled away. "Oh sweetheart," Jody murmured, wiping her tears away. "Hey, Alex, stir that sauce, would you?"

Leading her into the living room, Jody sat down on the couch, guiding Rachel to sit next to her. She handed her a box of tissues; Rachel took one, wiping her face. "Thanks," she managed, sniffing.

"You okay?"

"No. But I will be."

"Are you sure?"

Rachel nodded. "It's just … good to be here."

"So did the Winchester boys bring you up here?"

"No, I took a bus."

"I know." Rachel's eyes rounded, seeing Jody's expectant look. "When were you planning on telling me you are Sam Winchester's girlfriend?"

"Um … I was thinking never."

Jody frowned. "Rachel. That boy is worried sick about you." She shifted, lowering her voice. "He told me about what happened. He's very stressed about you coming here. In fact, he's asked me to try to talk you into going back to the bunker."

"I can't." Rachel shook her head. "Sam is a wonderful guy. I love him. But I can't base a relationship with him on him feeling sorry for me."

"Why do you think he only feels sorry for you?"

Rachel teared up, trying desperately to hold it back. "He was so distant after it happened. I didn't even talk to him for three weeks because he refused to see me." Jody's face wrinkled, pained at her struggle. She wrapped Rachel in a hug, smoothing her hair as Rachel cried. "He said he loves me, but he avoided me for weeks," Rachel murmured when she pulled away. "He made Cas keep me in my room, and made him bring me food. He wouldn't even lay with me in bed. He just … he just hid from me." Rachel trembled a little as she cried. "He said he didn't want to trigger me, but I told Cas to tell him I was fine. I mean, I get it. I do. Why would he want damaged goods? He deserves more than a broken girl who's probably pregnant with a Watcher's child. But, I love him. And … it's just hard."

"I can imagine," Jody said, continuing to stroke Rachel. "But if I know one thing about Sam Winchester, it's that he's got a big heart. And you own that heart now. "

"I don't," Rachel said, shaking her head. "And anyway, I can't burden him with this. I won't even be here long. I just … I couldn't stay there, knowing he felt guilty or obligated because of what Arioch did."

Jody drew in a deep breath. "Save any decisions for later. Right now, you focus on just relaxing, and mending your heart and mind. Okay?"

"Okay."

Taking her hand, Jody pulled Rachel to stand up. "Now, I'm thinking that sauce is ready for my spaghetti."

* * *

Not long after, Rachel was seated next to Jody at the dinner table with Alex, Claire Novak, and Patience Turner. The women were friendly and seemingly kind, but Rachel still felt nervous as the new girl among them.

"So, you're a hunter?" Claire asked, eating some pasta.

"Yeah," Rachel replied, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

"Cool. So, you coming with on the poltergeist?"

"Claire," Jody interrupted, "we're not sure yet it's a poltergeist."

Claire shrugged. "I am. But fine … You coming on 'the case?'"

Rachel chewed her food, answering after she swallowed. "If that's okay, I think it would be good for me." She looked to Jody; Jody's eyes gave a subtle enough hint of worry that Rachel caught it, but it wasn't enough to be noticed by anyone else.

"Sure," Jody said in an even tone. "If that's what you'd like to do."

"Awesome. Because she can drive me nuts sometimes," Claire teased with a smirk. "And Alex and Patience sure as hell aren't hunting."

"I work nights, dork," Alex replied, snagging some bread.

"You don't hunt, Patience?" Rachel asked.

"No," Patience replied with a laugh. "I'm a research slash psychic signs kinda girl."

"Jody and I do the hunting, sometimes with Donna," Claire said. "But some fresh blood will be good."

"So, where is the case at?" Rachel asked.

"Lincoln, Nebraska."

Rachel swallowed, her heart stopping. "Lincoln?"

"Uh huh." Claire's brow raised. "What, you have like an ex there or something? Because you just totally Caspered."

"No," Rachel said quickly with a small laugh. "Sorry. I just totally thought you said somewhere else where I do." She cleared her throat. "So, Lincoln, Nebraska. Where at in Lincoln?"

"It's kinda weird," Claire replied. "This 'non-poltergeist' poltergeist-" She made air quotes, smirking at Jody, who sighed. "-is focusing on houses of cops. Several break-ins, but no prints found, no signs of forced entry. A pattern of creepy symbols left in blood."

Rachel kept her poker face on, willing herself to draw in deep, even breaths. "Weird."

"I'll show you the file after dinner," Jody said.

"Great. So, when do we leave?"

"Tomorrow morning. It's about three and a half hours away, so we'll leave at seven."

Quietly, Rachel ate, only chiming in on the conversations briefly to avoid suspicion. She knew the poltergeist had to be Vance, and his spirit had to be angry at Denning for leading the Winchesters straight to Rachel. She also knew that Vance's spirit was likely trying to trap Sam and Dean. If the brothers heard about the case, they would go to Lincoln. That's just what Vance would want, and it scared the hell out of her. But she couldn't back out now, not without Jody putting her under lock-down just like Sam.

 _Sam._

Her throat ran dry, feeling the weight of her cell phone in her pocket. She had glanced at it before getting to the house, noting several missed calls, voicemails, and texts, all from Sam. If he knew about it, he'd likely have tried to contact her several more times. Still, if he didn't, should she warn him to avoid the case, and lie and say Jody was handling it? If she did, they'd likely not let Jody or Claire go it alone. It didn't matter if she told Sam or not. Either way, she was screwed.

After dinner, Patience showed her to her room, an untouched twin bed waiting for her. "I don't use the closet, so feel free," Patience said. "I just use the bureau. But there's an extra drawer for smaller stuff if you need it."

Rachel watched the beautiful girl sit on her bed and whip out her phone. "Thanks," she said softly.

"Sure," Patience replied, searching Rachel's eyes. "You okay?" Her brow creased a little as she studied Rachel.

"I'm fine," Rachel assured with a forced smile.

"Yeah, you're totally not," Patience laughed gently. "I mean, I can't read your mind, but I see your face. Just know I'm here if you want to talk."

Patience's words and expression were nothing but genuine. Still, it was far too much for Rachel to try to explain to someone who didn't already know some of the details. "Thank you. I appreciate that."

* * *

After a shower, while everyone else was watching a movie downstairs, Rachel got dressed in pajamas and sat quietly on her bed, looking through the file Jody gave her. Though she already knew who the poltergeist was, she didn't know what the symbols were in the photos. Though, after nearly an hour of studying it, Rachel realized it wasn't just a symbol composed of odd shapes—it was made up of abstract style letters, letters that spelled out the last person she wanted involved in the case:

SAM

Rachel's stomach roiled as she traced over the photos, her blood running cold. She had no choice—she had to keep Sam away from the case, which meant she had to convince him to stay in Kansas, which meant she had to talk to him.

Her eyes clouded with tears as she scrolled through the massive collection of notifications from Sam. She chewed on her bottom lip, trying to draw in courage to make the call while she had the chance. She was able to seize some alone time, claiming she was tired. Truthfully, she was anything but-it was easier than trying to explain how she was completely torn between trying to avoid Sam, but also trying to prevent him from walking into a trap.

Reluctantly, she read his text messages, then listened to his voicemails. Each one got progressively more desperate, until he was pleading with her to just talk to him even for a single minute. Her heart twisted, wrenching at the sound of his voice. God, how badly she wanted to be in his arms, to feel his lips on hers, and on her skin. She couldn't let him care for her out of pity, though. With enough time away, he would soon realize she was right, and it all was for the best.

He must have seen that she read his texts, because a string of new ones popped up:

 **Rachel, please. Please talk to me.**

 **I can't sleep. I can't eat. I need to talk to you.**

 **I need you to know how much I love you, how much I want you to come home.**

 **Please, baby girl.**

Rachel's tears coated her face. She knew he would eventually be better off without her, that he would find someone better. In the meantime, though, his blind desperation was killing her.

With a deep breath, Rachel dialed his number, Sam barely waiting a second before answering. "Rachel," he breathed. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," she whispered, her throat painfully dry. "Listen-"

"Baby, please," Sam begged. "Please tell me you're at Jody's, because I'm coming up there now."

Rachel's stomach tightened. "I am, but no," she said quickly. "You can't. You need to stay in Kansas."

"But-"

"This isn't about me and you. I need you to stay in Kansas to be safe."

She could practically see Sam's confused expression through his pause. "Safe from what?"

"I can't say," Rachel replied. "I just need you to trust me. I need you and Dean to stay in Kansas."

"Are you in trouble?" he asked, panicked.

"No!" She sighed, drawing in a deep breath. "Just ... just promise me, Sam. Promise me you'll both stay in Kansas until I call again."

Sam's small laugh scared her. "Baby girl, I'm already in the car. We just left."

Rachel's eyes widened. "No!" she begged. "Please, Sam. Please, don't come here. You can't be near me right now. I promise I will call as soon as this is over."

"As soon as _what_ is over?"

"Promise me, Sam," Rachel argued, her fingers tight around her phone as she trembled. "Promise me you'll stay at the bunker right now. If you want to do something for me, if you want to show me you love me, then do this for me. Stay. Home."

She heard the pain in Sam's voice, and it made her eyes tear. "Baby, if you're doing something dangerous, I can't just sit here. You know that."

"Promise me."

After a long pause of silence, Rachel heard Sam's barked order though he likely muffled the phone with his palm. The faint squeal of the Impala's brakes followed, along with a string of curses and questions from Dean. Sam drew in a deep breath. "You'll call me immediately," he said, a question posed more like a command.

"I will," she assured, hopeful Sam would listen to her. Though they stopped, she wasn't sure if he would follow through. "I promise."

"Jody is with you?"

"Yes."

Sam sniffed. "Rachel, please tell me what's going on."

"I can't, Sam," she whispered. "Just trust me."

Rachel hung up, sick to her stomach as she dropped the phone on the mattress. She buried her face into her palms, sobbing. Despite her desperation, she knew there was no way he would listen to her. Sam Winchester would never let her face this alone, even if it meant his potential death. She had to take care of it now, before he could catch up. She had to locate Vance's body to salt and burn it.

With a few taps, Rachel scheduled a private ride to Lincoln, her debit card more than abused from the cost. Still, she had to take care of it before Sam could get involved. She dressed in jeans and Sam's flannel shirt from before, zipped up her bag, and quietly snuck out of the house, not looking back as she got into her ride and drove away.

* * *

"You're fucking crazy," Dean growled at his brother as Sam hung up the phone, bruised that Rachel hung up on him.

"We're not staying here," Sam snapped, eyeing him. "I just had to make her think we were." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Something's got her freaked, Dean," he murmured, looking out through the windshield. He felt himself on the verge of tears. He couldn't possibly get to Rachel fast enough. "You were right. I should've never let her walk out that door."

"You'll get her back, and whatever it is she's mixed up in, we'll take care of it," Dean concluded somewhat stiffly, saving his "I told you so" and starting up the Impala again.

Two hours later, Sam's phone rang. "Hey, Jody," Sam answered tentatively, receiving a look from Dean in the driver's seat.

"Sam," Jody said, a quiver to her voice, "she's gone."

"Who?"

"Rachel."

Sam swallowed, his nostrils flaring. "When?"

"Within the last couple hours."

"Any idea where she would go?" he asked, receiving a wide-eyed look from Dean.

"Not really," Jody replied, sighing deeply. "The three of us were going to go look at a potential poltergeist case tomorrow involving houses of police officers. She seemed eager to get back out there." She cut Sam off as he started objecting. "I know, Sam. I know her potential condition. But I can't just lock her up. You saw how well that worked out for you."

"Where is the case?" Sam asked, his pulse racing, his knee bouncing.

"Lincoln."

His lips parted. "Nebraska?"

"Yeah. Why is everyone so weird about Lincoln, Nebraska?"

"Because that's where Arioch was killed. And that's where she went, more than likely."

"Son of a bitch," Dean grumbled.

"Son of a bitch." Jody echoed in Sam's ear. "She said nothing about it."

"Of course she didn't." Sam let out a growl, slamming his hand against the dashboard.

"Hey! Don't hit my girl!" Dean snapped next to him.

"Alright, we're heading to Lincoln. Sit this one out, Jody," Sam advised. "Especially if Claire is planning to go. Castiel will kill us if she's anywhere near this."

"Sam-"

"We've got her, Jody. We'll get her back."

Jody inhaled deeply. "Alright, Sam. Call me soon, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Sam hung up, tugging at his hair. "Watchers can't be poltergeists, can they?"

"Doubt it," Dean replied.

"So, then whose ghost would it ...?" Sam's eyes rounded with realization. "Oh fuck."

"Who?" Dean asked. Sam didn't reply. "Sammy, tell me, dammit!"

Sam tightened his hand into a fist. "Vance fucking Matthews."


	24. Chapter 24

**Lebanon, Kansas**

 **Two Hours Earlier**

"What the hell is wrong with him?" Dean shouted to Castiel, slamming his beer on the kitchen table as Castiel sat and listened. "How the fuck can he just sit there and let her go? I know that asshole loves her, but he still lets her go? Saying, 'it's what she wants?'" If I didn't know better, I'd say he was brain dead after being hit in the head too many times, the stupid son of a—"

"Bitch," Sam finished, sighing heavily as he leaned on the door frame. Dean whirled around, not expecting Sam to be there. "Yeah. I agree. I am an idiot for letting her go. I guess love makes you do stupid shit."

Dean drank his beer, eyeing his brother. "Look, I may not want to get into her pants, but that doesn't mean I don't give a shit about her." Sam saw Dean's creased brow, his balled up fist. His concern for Rachel was more than evident, his anger seemingly out of control. "She might be too damn good for you," he spat. "Hell, she's too damn good for everyone. And now she's out there, getting on a fucking bus to hide from you, because you let her down."

Sam drew in a deep breath, willing himself to let Dean have his time without interrupting him or defending himself. Though it was hard to hear, it wasn't anything he hadn't already thought, or already knew. "I know. Believe me."

"That girl has been through more shit than any one person should ever go through," Dean continued, taking a step to his brother. "So you'd better be in here telling me we are going after her and that you're going to keep that girl safe, because if you're not, then get the hell out until you are."

"I am," Sam said firmly, jaw ticking. His cheeks were still damp from his tears shed earlier in his room. "So, are you coming, or not?"

* * *

 **Lincoln, Nebraska**

Early the next morning, Rachel woke in the Super 8 motel after three hours of sleep. She skipped her shower, opting to roll her hair into a thick bun, dressing in her FBI suit. She knew she had to access both police and public records if she wanted to find out where Vance Matthews was buried. Sam had told her in the hospital they didn't salt and burn the body due to their rush to get her treatment. She knew he didn't mean it that way, but she couldn't help but feel the additional guilt on her plate now that Vance's spirit was terrorizing people.

Eating a free bagel from the continental breakfast, Rachel walked to the bus, taking the connection to the police station. Once at the stairs to the building, she drew in a deep breath and straightened her shoulders, marching up the stairs. She was prepared for the role she needed to play in order to get the information she wanted.

Walking up to the counter, she gave a friendly smile to the officer. She expected possible resistance. What she wasn't prepared for was what he said after greeting her. "Agent Markson, I remember you." The officer smiled back. "Agents Elliott and Russell just went to the archives on the second floor."

Rachel's heart stopped. "They did?"

"Yeah." The officer looked confused. "Didn't you know that?"

"Sure," Rachel laughed, shaking her head. "Just haven't had enough coffee yet. Thanks, officer."

The young man smiled, buzzing her through. Rachel's palms coated with sweat as she slowly walked to the elevator. There was no avoiding Sam now. The very records he and Dean were accessing were what she needed to keep them safe. She had no choice. She would work with them to end Vance.

With a gulp, she stepped off the elevator onto the second floor, pinching at the fabric of her blazer as she approached the department. She drew in a deep breath and quietly opened the door, seeing Sam's thick hair curtained around his face as he read over a file across the room at a table with Dean.

As if she signaled a radar, his eyes shot up to the sound of the door, honing in on her. His jaw flexed as he looked her over from across the room for a brief moment before tossing the file at Dean and striding over to her. She felt impossibly small the closer he came, his large hand finding the her lower back. "Outside," he whispered in her ear. She knew he was trying to remain professional for appearances as he guided her out of the room. Still, in that moment, with his burly aura and his intense eyes, she didn't know whether to be relieved or afraid.

Sam turned Rachel to face him when they found a quiet corner of the hall. His eyes were rimmed with dark circles he hadn't even bothered to try to hide, unlike hers. Still, the hazels of them shone with a comforting clarity as he looked down at her. His thumb ran over her cheek, his lips pressed together as he studied her in silence.

Drawing her deeper into the darkened corner, Sam pulled her to himself, pressing his lips over her cheek before trapping her mouth in his. She whimpered under his demanding kiss, her heart aching for both his close touch and his distant safety. He cupped her face as he nipped at her lower lip. "Rachel," he whispered, the way he said her name sending a shiver up her spine, "I missed you so damn much."

"Sam," she whispered as he focused on kissing her jawline, "you're not safe. It's-"

"Vance Matthews," he finished, keeping her close though he pulled away a little to look into her eyes. "We know." She saw the hints of pain he wrestled with as he examined her. "And you were what, planning on salting and burning him yourself? A poltergeist, who happens to be severely pissed off at all of us?"

"You in particular," she replied, swallowing back her smart ass reply she almost opted for, knowing he was right. It was a dumb plan. But love made you do really stupid shit, didn't it?

"Why do you say that?"

Rachel moved out of his grasp and took out the folded picture from the case file from her pocket, showing him as she traced the letters. "I … I knew as soon as I saw the file last night that he was trying to draw you out. I didn't want you to come."

"Because you wanted to keep me safe," he concluded as he tucked the photo into his suit jacket pocket, running his fingers over the nape of her neck exposed by her bun. He leaned in, his warm breath coasting over her ear. "Welcome to my world, baby girl."

Rachel squeezed her eyes shut as he gently sucked on her earlobe. "I know," she shuddered. The silent treatment, the distance, the secretive way of existing-everything Sam chose the last three weeks made sense to her now. She could no longer blame him for wanting to keep her at arm's length out of a strong desire to protect her. "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for. I never wanted you to feel like I didn't want you, or I didn't care about you. And I'm sorry I did. You're everything to me. I wanted to keep you safe."

"I understand now," she assured. "And I'm sorry I ran, and tried to do this by myself. I didn't want you to get hurt."

Despite their moment, Sam seemed to have his own agenda, holding her still as she threatened to jump from his tongue flicking over her neck, his fingers gliding over her hips.

"Sam, this really isn't the place," she scolded, trying to squirm away from him.

He laughed gently as she nearly squeaked when he grabbed her backside. "Then later, my bed," he said into her ear. "I've got time to make up and apologies to repeatedly give you." He nipped at her neck. "Dammit, I need you." His public friskiness and command was both nerve-racking and intoxicating.

"When you two are done making out, I've got a location for the body."

They both turned to Dean, seeing his raised brow as he looked them over, casually leaning against the wall. "Hey, don't let me stop you," he teased with a smirk. "No need to rush."

Rachel wrinkled her nose. "Gross, Dean."

"Yeah, Dean. Gross," Sam agreed, somewhere between warning and pissed.

Dean shrugged. "Hey, you're the ones publically making out in a police station."

Sam held Rachel's hand as they crossed over to Dean. "So, where is the body?"

"In a marked grave in the southeast end of a graveyard about twenty-five miles from here. The site is suppose to be pretty big."

"They knew who he was?"

"Chances are, they ran DNA."

"Where are you staying?" Sam asked Rachel.

"The Super 8," Rachel replied.

"Good. So are we. We'll head back, get changed, and go dig up a grave."

Dean nodded, grinning back at them as he led the charge out of the station. "Just, uh, no hanky panky in between. I want to get this done. There's supposed to be good adult entertainment options available tonight at the Rusty Nail."

"The 'Rusty Nail' sounds like somewhere you go to get a guaranteed STD," Rachel quipped.

Sam laughed; it was more than comforting to hear after so many weeks of hardships. "She's not wrong," he agreed.

"Whatever," Dean said with a shrug.

Sam rolled his eyes, tightening his grip on Rachel's hand as they followed. "I've got all the entertainment I could ever need right here," he teased in her ear, satisfied when he saw her cheeks flush.

* * *

Changed into jeans, casual tops, and boots, the three exited the Impala at the poorly kept graveyard where Vance's body was supposed to have been buried. "According to the file, this graveyard is for people who have no next of kin that can be tracked."

"I bet this place is a fun time on Halloween," Rachel murmured.

Dean threw open the Impala's trunk, tossing a shovel to Sam and grabbing one for himself. "Sorry, sweetheart," he said, "no extra shovel. We don't usually have company for S and Bs."

"It's alright." She smirked at Sam. "I'll just have to enjoy the view, I guess."

Dean gave Sam a shotgun, slinging one over his own shoulder. "Oh no. You get to carry the salt bag," Dean corrected, tossing it to her. She caught it with an oomph, the bag heavier than she expected.

"Easy," Sam grumbled. "She's like 95 pounds, Dean. The bag probably weighs more than her."

"God, I love that you think I'm 95 pounds," Rachel sighed.

"I think I might be 95 pounds after all that damn rabbit food your boyfriend cooked," Dean added as they started for the massive lining of graves.

"Please," Sam replied. "You ate your fair share. And I know you were sneaking burgers in between."

"Wings sometimes too."

"I'm pretty sure food will be your undoing, not anything we ever fight."

"Not everyone needs to run to stay sexy," Dean smirked. "Isn't that right, Rach?" He winked at her.

"I hate running," Rachel admitted, laughing at the look of mock horror from Sam. "Nope. You won't get me to go with you, even if it means I miss out on seeing your ass at work."

"Damn," Sam pouted. "I was really hoping to get you into a pair of hot pants."

As they looked for potential fresh graves, Rachel passed by a tombstone that had a large, flat surface, like a wide shelf. "Either of you ever done it in a graveyard?" she asked, maintaining a flirty innocence that went straight through Sam, making his member twitch.

"Nope," Sam said, clearing his throat.

"I plead the fifth," Dean replied.

"Really?" Sam asked, surprised.

Dean shrugged. "Kinda just happened."

Rachel's face wrinkled. "Gross."

"Hey, you asked."

"I didn't expect the answer to be yes."

"Well, what about you, Princess?" Dean asked with a grin.

Rachel hesitated, glancing over at Sam. "A makeout once on a dare."

Dean laughed at Sam's raised brow. "Atta girl." He elbowed his brother. "You snagged a fun one."

Sam gave a toothy smile, dimples creased. "I snagged the best," he corrected, grabbed Rachel around the waist and indulging in a slow, deep kiss.

Dean kept going, rolling his eyes. "For fuck sake," he grumbled, trudging ahead and leaving them. "No, no—don't worry," he said, his voice loud and dripping with sarcasm, "I'll keep looking for the bones of the poltergeist intent on killing us while you two swap spit."

Sam ignored Dean, slipping his tongue into Rachel's mouth with a groan as he ran his free hand over her flannel-covered waist. "You stole my shirt," he murmured as he broke the kiss.

Rachel blushed. "Sorry."

"It's okay. You'll make it up to me later."

"Oh, I will, will I?"

"Yes you will, little girl." His heady tone made gooseflesh run over her arms. He leaned in. "No one steals from me and gets away with it." His lips sank onto her jaw in a wet kiss.

"Yes, sir," she teased, tilting her head to give him better access.

"Fuck," he murmured, not expecting the blazing heat that stirred within from what she said. "Say that again."

"Yes, sir."

Sam practically growled as he attacked her neck. "Let's go find this son of a bitch so I can show you just what that's doing to me." He pulled away, leading her forward.

"So, someone likes being called, 'sir,'" Rachel noted with a flirty tone.

"Apparently."

She laughed, receiving a light smack on her backside that took her breath away. "And someone likes to be spanked," Sam said, licking his lips as he saw how her mouth rounded. "Two-way street, darling."

"Get the hell over here, you two," Dean shouted back at them. "I let you have your freaky moment. Now move it." They heard Dean grumbling as they got closer. "Fucking have to play principal with your asses."

The three walked for a while in comfortable silence, trying to locate a grave marked with Vance's name. The graveyard was massive, though, so the afternoon sun was already well overhead by the time they found the grave. "Finally," Dean growled, flopping down onto the grass.

"Come on, jerk," Sam said, thrusting his shovel into the grass and slicing through the newly grown sod, "get up."

"Shut it, bitch."

"If you didn't eat all those burgers, you wouldn't be so tired."

"I'm tired because we walked five miles to get here. Fucking hell."

Rachel finally caught up, groaning as she sat in the grass. "Sam, how the hell are you okay right now?"

"I'm motivated to get done and back to the motel," he replied with a sly wink.

Dean grumbled as he stood up, joining Sam in digging. The two brothers dug for a solid ten minutes before Rachel waved at them to stop. "What?" Dean asked, panting.

"Shh. Do you hear that?" she asked, eyes wide as she looked around.

"Hear what?" Sam said.

Rachel waited a moment. "That," she said, pointing her finger toward the sound. She walked over toward it, Sam watching her in worry as he tossed his shovel down.

"What the hell does she hear?" Dean asked.

"No clue," Sam replied as he followed her.

Rachel screamed with suddenness as her body was lifted, whizzing in the air past Sam into a tree trunk. Vance's spirit had her in his control. "Son of a bitch!" Sam shouted, racing after her. "Dig, Dean!" He rushed over to Rachel, who was gasping for breath, suspended in the air against the trunk. He aimed his shotgun into the open field, trying to spot Vance to weaken him with rocksalt.

Sam finally heard what Rachel did, a chilling whisper of a laugh as Rachel gasped harder to breath. "Dig!" Sam growled, eyes wild as he looked around. He spotted a blurred movement, aiming and firing at it. Rocksalt penetrated through it, and Rachel fell to the ground, sucking in air. "You okay?" Sam asked, kneeling down to her and moving her hair out of her face.

Rachel's eyes rounded. "Behind you!" she managed through a rasp. Sam turned, blasting his shotgun at the apparition, dissolving it with a whoosh. Rachel leaned her head against the tree trunk, still panting as Sam grabbed her hand.

"Come on," he said, tugging her toward the grave, where Dean was furiously digging. He handed Rachel the shotgun; she reloaded it, readying it as Sam grabbed his shovel and dug. Her eyes scanned the area, dirt flying behind her as the boys tried to reach the box with Vance's bones.

A mostly invisible figure appeared right next to Sam. "Sam, get down!" she yelled, blasting a shot at it as Sam lowered to the ground. Still, despite her hit, she felt a hand wrap around her throat. She gasped, dropping the shotgun as she tried to free herself from the invisible grasp.

"Shit!" Sam growled, stopping and grabbing the shotgun, loading it with salt.

"We're there!" Dean shouted as he cracked through the wood.

"Hurry, Dean!"

"Sorry, I wasn't aware I was taking my damn time!"

As Sam went to aim the shotgun, it flew from his hand across the field, his body thrown roughly in the opposite direction. He landed on his back, groaning as his spine collided with a grave marker.

Rachel pawed at her throat, her eyes watering as she tried to free herself. Sam pushed to his feet and dove after Dean's shotgun, cocking it and firing a round at the blur he spotted. Rachel was released—she gasped, coughing as Sam bent to her, examining her. "Breathe, baby," he urged, fearing the paleness of her complexion.

Behind them, Dean furiously salted what he could see of the bones, the box they were in only partially opened. Squeezing lighter fluid over it, he tossed a match and watched it light up. He glanced over to Sam, who was stroking Rachel's back.

Sam stood, pulling Rachel up next to him and steadying her with an arm around her waist. They slowly stepped toward the fire, watching the box burn. Rachel clung to Sam's shirt, drawing in shaky breaths as she balanced herself against him. "This will do it?" she asked, glancing between the brothers.

Dean nodded. "It has before." He left them to collect Sam's shotgun across from them.

Rachel tried to calm the fear in her as she studied the flames, drinking in Sam's caress and warmth. "Let's go," Sam said to her, stooping to grab the salt bag, slinging it over his shoulder with Dean's shotgun.

"I can get that," Rachel murmured.

"You just focus on breathing," he insisted, taking up his shovel. Dean rejoined them, shotgun on his back as he picked up his own shovel and led the charge back to the Impala.


	25. Chapter 25

**_This chapter contains M-rated content._**

* * *

By the time the three reached the car, they were more than tired. Rachel was desperate for a shower and some sleep, her eyes heavy as Dean drove back to the Super 8.

At the motel, Dean flopped on his bed nearly as soon as he and Sam got back to their room. Sam took a quick shower and then grabbed his bag and left for Rachel's room, knowing Dean would likely go out when he woke anyway.

Sam knocked on her door, and Rachel answered, her hair in the process of being released from the bun she wore. "I'll be right back. I need a shower," she said, turning back around for the bathroom when Sam grabbed her from behind.

"Need a hand?" he asked into her ear.

"I'll be okay," she said with a laugh, suddenly a little less tired as she felt his member press against her.

"Damn."

"Raincheck?"

"Definitely."

A half hour later, Rachel emerged from the steamy bathroom, hair wet and dressed in only another of his plaid shirts hanging off her small frame over a set of silky navy blue panties. "Fuck," Sam growled. He pushed up from the bed, wearing only his lounge pants, and pressed her against the bathroom door. "I know we said raincheck, but you stole two of my shirts. Now you're just teasing me."

"I did," she smirked, shivering as his calloused fingertips skimmed under the shirt over her still-heated skin. She was tired, but her arousal seemed to wake her up a little.

"And you look sexy as hell in both of them. You realize that this is one of my favorites too, right?"

"I didn't."

"It is. So, what do you think we should do about this?"

"You can always take it back," she concluded, a smile playing over her lips. His large hands clenched her waist as he thrust against her.

"I plan to, little girl," he replied into her ear, his tongue darting over her neck. "And I plan to punish you for your crime."

"Yes, sir," she breathed, arching her back against the door as she felt his stiffness grind over her center. Sam drew in a deep, shaky breath, halting himself; she could tell he was reeling himself in, bottling his desire for her sake. "Don't be afraid of me," she said, tracing over his cheek as she looked into his eyes. They were nearly black with desire.

He swallowed. "I just … I don't want to …"

"I know." She stroked him. "But you won't."

"What if I do?"

"Then I'll tell you."

"Safe word?"

Rachel looked down at his bare chest. "I … I don't know. I've never …"

"It's okay," he assured. He cupped her cheek, tenderly stroking her face. "How about Yankees, for that damn sweatshirt I wanted to rip off of you the first time you wore it for me."

She blushed. "Okay." He shook his head. "Yes, sir," she corrected, loving the way his upper lip curled as she said it. Her lips parted as he sucked on her throat; she was sure to have a purple splotch there the next day.

He paused, panting into her shoulder. "Even if you do get scared, if you only remember one thing, remember that I love you." He couldn't help the gentle nip he gave her on her neck.

Sam's words shot straight to Rachel's core, an ache building as he explored her with his lips and tongue. Despite her insistence of not being controlled, she was more relaxed now than she had been in weeks. Though she never considered herself a submissive, his powerful affection was the perfect answer to her doubts.

Her hands rested on his stomach as his mouth ran over the gentle vibration in her throat, sliding across to the opposite side and suckling the delicate skin there. "You're mine, do you understand?" he asked as he parted from her neck, pressing his forehead against hers. She nodded. "Say it."

"I understand," she whispered with a shiver.

"Wrong."

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Whose are you?"

"Yours."

"That's right, baby girl. And you're mine to take care of. Mine to protect. Mine to love." He drew her earlobe into his mouth, tasting it. "So you'll listen to me, and only me. Not the voices in your head. Me. Okay?" She nodded. "No," he corrected. "Say it."

"Yes."

He smirked. "You northern girls always forget that last part." She saw the flush creep up on her cheeks, his pulse quickening from it.

"Yes, sir," she whispered, her eyes searching his.

"Good girl." He nuzzled her, knowing trustworthy command and direction and was what she craved, what she was missing in her life. And, if he was being honest, it was a definite turn-on for him. "Now, if you're ready and this is what you need, then I am more than willing to give you the safety of my control. But you need to submit to it when you need it. Can you do that?"

Rachel sucked in a shaky breath. "I think so."

"It's either yes or no," he reminded, drawing her even closer.

"... Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good." He pressed kisses to forehead and cheek, his warm breath flowing over her. "How do you feel?"

"Safe," she replied. And she did. Knowing he was in control eased her mind more than she knew possible.

"You should. And if at any time you don't, you are to tell me immediately. Okay?"

"Yes … sir."

He laughed, his mouth hovering over hers. "We'll work on that."

She blushed. "Okay."

He paused, eyeing her. She knew he was being playful despite his serious look. "Excuse me?"

"Yes, sir," she corrected with a laugh.

"Do you know the real reason why I'm making you say that?" he asked, pulling back to look into her eyes. She shook her head. "Because I need you to remember who will always steady you." He raked his fingers through her hair. "No matter how crazed you feel inside, how out of control things get in your head, I am your rock. When you need to, you submit to me and let me lead. Calling me 'sir' is not about a power trip, or about devaluing your worth. It's about you knowing that you can rely on me, knowing I am here for you, and you alone. My job is to keep you safe, to keep you balanced. I work for _you_. Your job is to let me do that, and you will show that you are by verbally submitting to me. Okay?"

"Yes, sir," she whispered, pressing her mouth to his. Sam grunted, attacking her lips as he gripped her hair at the roots.

"Goddamn," he growled, jumping when Rachel slid her hand over his hardened bulge.

She ached for Sam's touch. His dominance had soothed her, and she didn't want to lose the safety. "Please," she whispered, kissing his jawline.

His eyes rolled shut, her lips on his skin making him stir. "Please what?"

"Please be with me."

"So you just want me to hang out?" he teased as he looked down at her, taking hold of her head.

"No," she shuddered.

"Then tell me what you want, baby girl," he rasped. "I work for you, remember?"

"You," she said, trying to kiss his lips, but held back by Sam. "I want you."

He licked his lips as he examined her, more than heated as he took in her features. "We will take this slow," he whispered, rubbing his nose against hers.

"I need you, Sam," she whimpered.

"Let me be in control," he corrected sternly. "We will take this slow so it's not overwhelming, okay?"

"Yes, sir." She purposely drew out the words in a breathy tone, running her tongue across her bottom lip.

Sam gave her an open grin that melted her insides, his mouth curling up at the corner. "Keep it up, and you'll be in a lot of trouble."

"What kind of trouble?" she whispered, pressing her hips against his.

His breath hitched. "The kind that will get you doing research with me for days."

"Doesn't sound so bad." She rotated herself against him gently with a smirk, never feeling more comfortable, desired, and safe as she did in that moment. Somehow, Sam knew what she needed, and she ate it up like she had been starved of it before.

Sam growled, grabbing her waist and backing her up to the bed, her calves knocking into the mattress. He paused, catching his breath. "Slow," he said, mostly reminding himself. "We're taking this slow. Otherwise, I will lose my everloving mind." He kissed her languidly, his tongue snaking into her mouth as her hands roamed over his broad back. Her small fingers dipped down between his stomach and the elastic waist of his lounge pants that were already tented. He stopped her as he lifted her onto the bed, laying her gently down with a satisfied smile. "This is for you tonight, and for as long as I say. Not for me." He gently placed her hands above her head as he hovered over her, kissing her wrists. "These stay here, unless you want me to stop. What's the word you say if you do?"

"Yankees," she whispered.

"Good girl."

He peppered her with kisses, drinking in her coos as he tenderly doted on her. Everything about his touch was gentle, soft, with just the right undercurrent of control running through it. Sam peeled his shirt off of her, revealing her bare breasts. "Damn," he growled, his lips immediately latching on to one of her hardened nipples, his large hand working over the other. She arched up to him, her arms over her head and eyes shut as he made sure every inch of her breasts had been thoroughly explored and worshipped.

Sweat sheened his forehead ever so slightly as he looked up at her through his thick hair. "Are you okay?" he whispered, his hazel eyes searching for even a hint of distress.

She nodded. "I'm okay, Sam." As she reached out to stroke his cheek, he captured her hand, suckling on her wrist.

"No touching," he reminded.

"Yes, sir," Rachel smirked, lifting her hips up to his and rubbing against them, watching him squeeze his eyes shut as he grunted. His dominance was both soothing for her chaotic mind, and a good reminder of just how much control she had in being submissive to him. Though she would call him "sir," his weakness for her gave her just as much strength back, strength she desperately needed.

"That means these delicious hips of yours too," Sam said, moving further down her body until he was settled between her thighs, pinning her hips to the mattress as she barely held back her giggle. "Something funny, little girl?" he asked, a smirk on his lips as he ripped her dark blue satin panties in half.

It caught her by surprise. She gasped as Sam yanked out the pieces from under her and tossed them aside, his large hands gripping her backside and lifting her off the mattress enough for one to give her a gentle smack. She shivered, the sting of his hand soothed by his tender touch immediately after. Again, he spanked her, his mouth suckling her inner thigh. "Are you going to take my shirts again?" he asked.

Rachel bit back her moan as his fingers dug into her ass cheeks. "Yes," she whispered with a smile.

He grinned as she gasped from the smack he gave her on the other cheek. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good girl. You'll wear my shirts to bed from now on, or nothing at all."

Rachel sucked in a shuddered gasp as Sam buried his tongue into her center. "Oh shit," she growled as he held her hips off the mattress, pressing his face deep into her. His long brown hair teased her inner thighs as he licked through her wet folds, his nose nudging her sensitive bud with a smirk as she bucked into his face.

One hand holding her hips up, his other moved to her entrance, two fingers slipping easily inside of her. "Fuck, Sam," she breathed, whimpering as he pumped into her, hitting her sensitive spot with each thrust. He felt her tighten around him ever so slightly.

"Don't come," he ordered after removing his tongue, his fingers still pumping.

Her eyes rounded at his challenge. "S-Sam, I—"

"Don't," he repeated, watching her chew her lip. "This is part of it all. You need to listen to me, even when your mind is telling you something different. You'll come when I let you."

She tried, but failed to calm her gasps as he scissored inside of her. "Please," she whimpered, a wanton cry filling his ears as she wriggled against his hand.

"Please what?"

"I need to come."

"You have to wait."

"Please, Sam," she begged, pressing her hips against his hand, desperate for friction.

"Don't come," he reminded her, feeling her walls clench his fingers.

"Fuck," she moaned. "I … I can't …"

"Whose are you, baby girl?" Sam asked gently, his tone far softer.

"Yours," Rachel whispered, her fingers clenched around the pillow under her head.

"That's right. You're mine. And I'm going to give you a good orgasm, but you need to trust me. Do you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good girl." Sam swiped his tongue across her opening, holding Rachel's hips still as she screamed.

"Sam, I can't," she shivered, eyes squeezed shut.

"Yes, you can," he replied against her inner thigh. "Just listen to me. Don't come." She panted as he curled his fingers in her. "You're doing so good, baby girl. So, so good." He licked over her opening, then dipped his tongue in as deep as he could go. Her thighs shook against his stubbled face as he quickened his thrusts, his tongue flicking over her bud. Sam looked up briefly from between her legs, seeing the sheen of sweat over her brow, the deep pink flush over her entire body, the tight clench of her fight. "Okay little girl," he whispered, kissing her inner thigh, "come for me."

All it took was two more thrusts, and she became a quivering, screaming mess in his hands, his name filling the room. He prolonged her climax as he ate her while she orgasmed, steadying her as she very slowly descended.

"Fuck, Sam," she panted, her body like rubber as he gently laid her back on the mattress. He grabbed his shirt she was wearing from the floor and a pair of panties from her bag, tenderly re-dressing her before climbing into bed next to her and drawing the sheet and blanket over them. He held her and stroked her as he watched the tremors run through her, spasms hitting her. He was grateful his arousal seemed to die down rather quickly with his exhaustion, though her moans made him twitch a bit.

"You owe me panties," she managed, trying to catch her breath.

Sam laughed, his dimples pronounced. "I'll buy you all the panties you want, baby girl." He pressed a kiss onto her cheek. "I love you," he whispered. "Thank you for trusting me."

Rachel lay exhausted on the bed, not even opening her eyes. "I love you," she said before she passed out.

* * *

Sam woke up stiffer than a board the next morning, which was pretty embarrassing. Luckily, Rachel was fast asleep, so he gave in and took care of himself in the shower, knowing he'd be unable to deal with it any other way. Despite the relief it brought, he was still itching for Rachel, but at least was slightly more able to function.

If he was being truthful, the idea of winging the whole dominant thing was a bit scary. Sure, he knew about BDSM, but he hadn't ever really delved into that arena sexually. At the most, he had tied up lovers, and had been tied up, but that was about it, other than the occasional spank he gave. It wasn't really about that, anyway. Still, he felt the pressure of trying to make sure she was satisfied without crossing a line. Whatever he did before seemed to work perfectly, so he just hoped he could maintain that balance and not screw things up even further.

With a heavy sigh, Sam pulled on a fresh tee shirt and looked down at Rachel, who was still out, a peaceful look on her face. He smiled, glancing at his cell phone, seeing a missed call from Jody. He picked it up and pressed the call-back, pacing out of the motel room after pocketing the key, waiting for her to pick up.

"Sam Winchester," Jody scolded with a huff, "how long does it take you two to salt and burn some damn bones?"

Sam laughed, looking over the balcony at the bright morning light that bathed the scene. "Sorry, Jody. I, uh, was a little preoccupied when we got back last night."

"Is that what they call it these days? Well, at least you're not entirely thick in the head."

"Thanks ...?" His brow raised.

"I assume you torched whoever the poltergeist was?"

"Yep. All taken care of. We'll be heading back to Lebanon today."

Jody exhaled deeply. "I know you'll take care of her, but Sam, that girl is beyond broken. She'll need your patience."

Sam smiled softly. "That'll be easy for me. I love her."

He could practically see Jody gushing over the phone. "Well, it's about damn time one of you boys settled down. Now if we could get your brother to plant some roots …"

"The world would likely end—for real," Sam teased.

"You'd better invite me to the wedding."

Sam felt his cheeks heat up. He cleared his throat. "Um, that's … uh … we … she …"

"Oh for goodness sake, don't hurt yourself," Jody sighed. "And don't be stupid again."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And Samuel?"

"Yes ma'am?"

"We'll find a way for her, if she needs one," Jody assured him, her tone shifting.

"Thanks," he said, taking a deep breath. "I've got to go, but if my girlfriend tries to run away from me again because she thinks she's a burden, would you please tell her that I'm insane about her and that I'll hunt her down wherever she goes?"

Jody laughed. "Yes, I will. Be safe."

"You too, Jody."

Sam hung up with a smile, glancing at his watch. He knew check out was coming up soon. He tucked his phone into his pocket, unlocking the door and shutting it behind himself. "Baby girl," he said gently, setting the key down on the small table next to the door. He turned to her and smiled, seeing her eyes open from across the room. "We've got check out in a bit, sweetheart."

When Rachel didn't move, his brow furrowed. Her eyes remained wide, her lip quivering as he moved to her. "Rachel?" he asked. Ice flooded his veins when he smelled a particular scent he was unfortunately all too familiar with—fresh blood.

"Yankees," she mouthed.


	26. Chapter 26

Sam rushed to her, peeling back the blankets, eyes wide as he saw her arm had been sliced into, Rachel's hunting knife hovering by her bloodied skin. She was shaking, pinned down and silenced by an invisible force—Vance's spirit. Though they salted and burned his bones, there was something he was still clinging to, something he had to destroy to keep Rachel safe.

"It's okay," he said calmly, though he felt anything but. In truth, he was more than scared, knowing without her voice, he was nearly helpless to figure out what the item was.

As Sam went to try to lift her up, he was thrown across the room, his back crashing against the far wall. He groaned, slumping down and trying to get to his feet, but the force knocked him back against the plaster, pinning his limbs to it.

"Don't you touch her," Sam warned, nostrils flared. He watched with gritted teeth as Vance's spirit used Rachel's blood to slowly draw the same symbol of his name she showed him from the case photos. The crimson liquid dripped down the motel wall above the bed she was pinned to. He growled as the knife floated in the air and ran over her arm, then her thigh, drawing more fresh blood. Rachel's stifled screams made him go insane, the tears leaking from the corners of her eyes stirring his rage. "You son of a bitch!" Sam pulled against the hold over him as hard as he could, groaning as he struggled. "If it's me you want, then leave her alone!" Through his fight, he saw Vance write another message under the symbol:

ARIOCH'S WILL LIVES

Sam's heart stopped, nostrils flared as he gritted his teeth and tugged against his restraints. "Let her go, you bastard!" His skin reddened as he pulled, his stomach sickening as he saw the next message:

SHE IS THE SACRIFICE

"You want a sacrifice?" Sam challenged. "Come and get it, you douchebag!" He watched as the knife lifted from near Rachel, spinning around to point to him.

Rachel gasped, the hold on her throat released. "Sam!" she rasped as she coughed, panicked when she saw the blade aimed for him.

"Baby, listen to me," Sam instructed, keeping his eyes on her, ignoring the knife. "Focus on me. Focus on what I'm saying." He saw the knife float closer to him out of the corner of his eye. "Do you have anything of Vance's? Anything at all?"

Before Rachel could answer, the knife lodged into Sam's stomach. "Sam!" she screamed, desperately trying to move to him. Sam groaned, blood spilling from his abdomen down his tee shirt onto his jeans.

Dean burst into the room, eyes wide. After coming to get them for checkout, he heard the commotion and screams, knowing something was very wrong. Rachel looked to him desperately as she tried to break free from Vance's hold. "Dean! Help him!"

As Dean lunged toward Sam, he was blasted out of the motel room not even a second later, the door slamming shut on him. From the outside, Dean wrestled with it, pulling as hard as he could with a grimace, but getting nowhere fast.

Inside, Sam swallowed, looking at Rachel and seeing the fear in her eyes. "Rachel," he said with gentle firmness, gasping for air against the knife in his stomach, "you need to … destroy anything of … Vance's … you have."

"The case for my knife," she whispered with realization.

"Is that it?" She nodded. "Okay—"

Sam growled as the knife was yanked out of his stomach, then slammed back in the other side. He coughed, blood spilling from his mouth. "Oh my God! Sam!" Rachel screamed, her voice raw with desperation. Her eyes widened when she felt her restraints release, immediately moving toward Sam.

"No!" he gasped. "Let him … come after me."

"But Sam—"

Sam wheezed. "Rachel, get the case … and light it … on fire ... with … my lighter ... in the front … of … my bag."

Rachel scrambled off the bed, furiously attacking her bag and grabbing the soft leather pouch that held her knife and her small can of hairspray, throwing the pouch in the trash can and dousing it with the product.

Sam groaned as the knife twisted in him, his head hanging as he was painted in his own blood. Rachel's mouth opened, horrified as she saw the blade withdraw, then sink into him again. "Dean!" she screamed, hands shaking as she tore open Sam's bag to search for the lighter. Dean's banging and yelling punctuated the air, the room rattling with each struggled attempt. Through her tears, she found the lighter and lit a piece of paper, dropping it in the can. She gasped as she saw Sam's shirt tear with the long slice the knife drug through him, Sam's body more than bloody and torn, limp and unresponsive. "Please, Vance! Stop!"

Within a couple moments, the spirit ignited into flames, Rachel's knife dropping to the ground with a clatter and Dean bursting through the door, all of the bonds on them released. Sam collapsed to the ground; Rachel fell to her knees next to him, lifting his heavy head and gasping at his paled face.

"Cas!" Dean shouted, panicked as he saw Sam, "if you can hear me—"

Castiel blinked in, Rachel jumping as he scared her with his quick presence. Castiel made quick work of restoring Sam, then healing her arm and leg. "Shit," she murmured, combing Sam's hair away from his face, his eyes still closed. "Please, Sam. Please come back to me."

Sam sucked in a deep breath, coughing violently as he gripped Rachel for stability, Rachel more than relieved as color filled his face again. Rachel kissed his forehead and cheeks, her tears dripping onto his shirt as she held him, his blood painting her bare legs and arms.

Dean slammed his palm against the wall, head hanging. "This is why we salt and burn the sons a bitches," Dean sighed. "I'm sorry. Never again, Sammy."

"It's not your fault, Dean," Sam assured, slowly standing, Rachel helping him. "Besides, you didn't do it because you took care of Rachel. That's what matters."

"I do hope this is the end of this," Castiel remarked to Sam. "You've had quite the injury run."

"You aren't kidding."

"I'm so sorry," Rachel whispered. "I should've thought about his case sooner."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, baby girl," he assured, drawing her close. "Shit," he murmured, seeing how his blood stained her.

"It's okay," she assured. "But I ruined your shirt."

Sam smirked, coughing. "You should take it off."

Castiel's eyes widened. He cleared his throat. "I, um, am going to, uh, wait outside."

Dean wrinkled his nose. "Yeah, I'm with you, Cas." He pointed between them. "Can you two get cleaned up without getting busy or getting stabbed? I want to get the hell out of Lincoln."

"Me too," Rachel sighed.

* * *

 **Three Weeks Later**

 **Lebanon, Kansas**

"Hmm," Rachel pondered playfully as the three entered the bunker. "Hey Sam, can I use your laptop to build my playlist?"

"Sure babe," Sam smirked, seeing Dean's scowl. "I told you, Dean," he laughed, "but you didn't listen to me."

"Cheater," Dean grumbled.

"You made the bet," Rachel shrugged.

"I would've kicked your ass if it was pool."

"Sore loser. Darts is my game."

Dean took out a beer, popping the top. "I can't believe you're going to taint Baby like this. Bad enough when I died that Sam put that MP3 garbage in her."

"Don't forget about me getting to drive too while I make you listen to all of the best nineties pop songs." Rachel couldn't help her smile, seeing how her prize ruffled Dean's feathers.

Dean shuddered. "I hope you're satisfied, sister," he groaned.

"Very much so," she grinned.

"Really?" Sam asked with a small pout, moving behind her and taking her by the hips. "You sure?" He ran his mouth over her jaw, and Rachel's cheeks flushed.

Dean banged his beer down. "Oh no," he said, narrowing his eyes. "This is where I draw the line. _No. Sex. In. My. Car."_

Sam shrugged. "I wasn't thinking about in the car."

Dean groaned, swiping up his beer. "I'll be hiding from the two of you in the Dean Cave. Try not to make too much damn noise."

"We make a hell of a lot less than Georgia from the 'Bad Hatter' did," Rachel quipped.

Dean paused, giving a small shrug. "She was enthusiastic," he noted.

"She was very drunk."

Though he narrowed his eyes at her, she could see the smile lingering behind her boyfriend's brother's expression. "Are you trying to say that I can only score with drunk girls?"

She smiled. "It wouldn't kill you to, I don't know, see a girl _not_ from a poorly-named bar."

Dean smiled softly back. "Yeah, well we all can't be as lucky as Sammy, now can we?" He gave her a wink before turning away, singing as he left. "Georgia … Geor—-gia …"

Sam caught a glimpse of his brother leaving the room as he kissed the side of Rachel's neck.

"How does it look?" she asked.

With careful fingers, Sam brushed her hair away from the nape of her neck, revealing her freshly inked warding symbol tattooed onto her skin. "Sexy," he murmured, resuming delicately kissing the space next to it. "It's healing nicely."

"Good," she replied noncommittally.

Sam paused, turning Rachel to himself. "You okay?" he asked, brushing his thumb over her cheek.

Rachel smiled, though her stomach felt sick. "I'm fine." She reached up and tenderly kissed Sam, pulling back a little. "I just need to use the bathroom."

"Okay, babe. I'll be in our room." Sam kissed the top of her head, heading toward the hall. Rachel watched him, tightening her hold on the purse slung over her shoulder as she left for the bathroom at the opposite end from their bedroom.

Once locked inside, Rachel set her bag on the counter and pulled out the pharmacy shopping bag she stuffed inside of it, fishing in the plastic until she produced a small, rectangular box. She swallowed hard, her throat immediately drying out as she ran her fingers over the lettering.

With a deep breath, she tore open the package and pulled out the plastic pregnancy test stick. Tears threatened the corners of her eyes, but she bit them back. She hadn't drank that night, opting for iced tea, but loads of it with just this intention.

After using the test, she set it on the counter and refused to look at it, washing her hands and running water over her face while she waited the full allotted two minutes recommended. She stared at her reflection, immediately recalling the night she was taken. It send frigid chills up her spine, and she trembled as she tried to shove the memory away back into the darkened corner of her mind.

When she knew two minutes had more than passed, Rachel looked down to the test. Her face remained neutral as she processed the results, then tucked the test back into the box and shoved it in her purse.

Sam smiled as Rachel came into the bedroom, watching her as she tossed her purse into her corner of the room and quietly changed into one of his plaid shirts. "Tired?" he asked.

"Yeah," she laughed. "You?"

"Not really."

She grinned over at him as she finished buttoning the shirt. "Should I be worried?"

"Not worried. Just prepared," he replied, his smile matching hers.

Rachel climbed into bed and took her glasses off, flicking off the light as Sam drew her close to himself and covered them with blankets. His small groan as he kissed her exposed shoulder shot through her, his large hands skimming down her thighs as his tongue traced the small dip of her collarbone from behind.

With a gentle pull, she was under him, his mouth on hers as he tenderly kissed her. His fingers traveled from her hair to her hips, exploring every bit of her with soft eagerness.

Sam stopped suddenly, brushing the hair from her eyes. Her brow wrinkled. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"I can wait, sweetheart," he assured. "I'm just happy to be with you, regardless."

"No, no," she quickly said, "you don't need to."

His face was more than sincere. "It's fine, baby." He kissed her forehead.

"I want you to," she urged.

Sam paused a moment before he resumed his kiss on her lips, settling between her legs as he ran his mouth down her neck. He pushed her shirt up a little, his fingers skimming across the top of her panties before dipping under. "So beautiful," he murmured, a hum in his throat as he skimmed the top of her core.

"Yankees!" Rachel gasped, her pulse shooting through the roof.

Sam immediately backed away, watching her in concern as she sat up, tucking her legs under herself. "I'm so sorry," he said, pained as he sat up next to her.

"It's … It's not …" She tried to even her breathing. "It's not you."

"Baby girl, it's me," Sam assured gently.

She shook her head. "No, I mean … the reason isn't you. It's just … I …"

Drawing her close, Sam cupped her cheek, fingers brushing over her skin. "Talk to me," he encouraged. "Tell me."

A knot formed in Rachel's stomach while a lump formed in her throat. She felt helpless, like the words didn't exist. "Sam," she shuddered. She kept her eyes on his tattoo, the tears she had been holding in leaking down her cheeks.

He drew her closer as he waited, his own pulse skyrocketing as he watched. "Rachel," he pleaded, dread lining his gut, ice in his veins at her silence. He wiped her tears away. "Baby girl. Talk to me."

Her eyes met his, her lip quivering. There was no changing her fate. He deserved the truth, though she knew it would tear them both apart. Still, this was her future. And he had to know, even if it meant losing him. He deserved that much after all he had been through for her.

Somehow, she found the strength to hold his gaze, seeing the pain she felt mirrored back in his eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered with a shudder. She paused, lip quivering. "I'm pregnant, Sammy."

* * *

 ** _Thanks for taking this journey with me! I'll be continuing the story in a second book, which may have current episodes woven through it for continuity. So, follow me for updates! Please leave feedback and let me know where you think things should go! I love hearing from readers, regardless of opinion. :)_**


	27. Chapter 27

**To those following this story,**

 **the continuation, "Death By Dreams" is live!**

 **Thanks for the support and feedback!**


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